


Beyond

by mockingjayne



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 66,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21748477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockingjayne/pseuds/mockingjayne
Summary: Maybe it wasn't chance or fate that had brought them together again, but perhaps a history that had left them so inextricably intertwined that time knew better.
Relationships: Wyatt Logan & Lucy Preston, Wyatt Logan/Lucy Preston
Comments: 21
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

_The sound of the bell ringing has Lucy gathering her books, quickly stuffing them into her book bag, yet still managing to be one of the last students to leave the classroom._

_She enters the hallway looking both ways, trying to remember which way was the library. At her old school, it had been her home away from home, finding more comfort in the books with their tales of important figures in time surrounding her in greatness. She didn’t find them overbearing and suffocating in the same way that her mother was. Never actually present, more a looming figure of reputation hanging over her, but still, the pressure was there, applied with a stern look and a disapproving click of her tongue. But here, she found herself lost, searching for the right path to take._

_Lucy shakes her head, her curls bouncing against her back, her eyes narrowing into a squint as she tries to remember which way to go._

_Her mom’s research had led them to the middle of nowhere. Literally. Texas was a far cry from California, and an even further cry from the life she had become accustomed to. Everything was flat and dry, with nothing but land to see for miles and miles. The expanse with which the area surrounded her felt like it was too much of just nothing. She couldn’t wait to get out of here and back to her real life, but she’d had no choice in the matter when it came to moving. A countdown of sorts jotted down in her journal until she would head off to Stanford, a sure plan for her life already etched in ink, a given that she was still trying to navigate._

_xxxxx_

Lucy’s forehead rests against the cool window of the SUV that was currently driving her to who knows where, her mind overthinking the possibilities, needing some relief and wandering off to a time that felt so far away, she couldn’t even remember the girl she was back then.

“Right this way,” she’s directed, turning in circles at the long hallway that led to a room, that she was quickly ushered into.

With a deep sigh, she turns to ask a question, and is cut off by the closing of the door. Her confusion left to linger, as she nervously glances around the room, seeing only one other occupant. 

Her eyes grow wide at the realization of who is sitting beside her, feet propped up against the table, eyes shut, the same position she’d first found him.

She finds herself willing to risk national security and head right back out that door, because the last thing she wants to do right now is dredge up the past.

_But isn’t that what you’d been doing?_

Her mind teases her, refusing to be deceived into thinking that this wasn’t a man she thought of on the daily.

xxxxx

_She finds herself busting into the double doors of the library, nearly tripping into a classmate, an odd glance sent her way, as Lucy winces, sending an apologetic shrug to the person, but they leave before she can get an actual word out, and she drops her head._

_Adjusting the straps of her backpack, she begins searching the tables set up around the stacks of books, not quite sure who exactly she was looking for, until she spots him._

_Making her way to the empty table save one, a shy smile makes its way to her face, as she observes him. He’s cute, athletic, and doesn’t seem nearly as nervous as she is. His fingers are tapping a pencil against a notebook, and she finds herself relieved that at least he’s ready and willing to accept her help._

_“Uhh, hi, I’m Lucy. I’m here to…”_

_“Wrong table,” he interrupts her before she can even finish her sentence, and she finds herself balking, her smile dropping, as she gathers up her bag that she’d set on the table._

_“Oh, I’m sorry, I just…” she fumbles with her words having not been prepared for this type of interaction._

_“He’s over there,” he gestures with his pencil, and she glances over her shoulder to another table, its occupant, unlike the guy in front of her, does not have a notebook and pencil at the ready, but instead has his feet propped up on the actual table, his arms crossed, and eyes closed, as if he couldn’t care less._

_“Umm, thanks,” she nearly whispers as she attempts to quietly make her way to her actual table._

_xxxxx_

The last time she’d seen him…she couldn’t even pretend she didn’t know. Every time she saw him was neatly categorized onto a shelf of her mind that she liked to pull out and analyze until sleep evaded her late at night. She’d go over every detail, wondering what had happened, why they had ended up the way they did. Her hand usually coming to rest on her beating chest, as if a gaping wound was still there, bleeding for her attention whenever she thought of him.

He looked…different, but with the same boyish charm still resting on his lips. His eyes, a weapon that was concealed at the moment, but likely to be wielded in his favor at any point.

Awkwardly, she sits down, gripping her bag tightly, her eyes refusing to relinquish their hold on his slumped form on the chair across from her.

“Are you asleep?” She finds herself whispering, words from the past creeping into her throat, demanding they be said. 

She can see him tense at the words, not having realized that she’d said them out loud, and she finds herself glancing back over at the door, debating whether it was too late to make a run for it.

“No, ma’am,” he answers, and she doesn’t know whether to bristle at the name or burrow further into her sweater, feeling a bit like home at the sound of the words coming from his mouth.

“I didn’t…umm, you’re…” she fumbles with her words, finally landing on a question. “Do you know why we’re here?” She deems it a safe ice breaker if there ever was one. But it proves to be more dangerous than she anticipated when he cracks up an eye at her, that same grin she’d long since memorized, having danced across her entire body, sending a shiver down her, as she narrows her eyes at him.

“No clue…Luce,” he amends what surely would’ve been another ma’am. Instead choosing to go for the dagger to a heart, pulling out a nickname that had started as a whisper against her, that had lit her cheeks on fire the first time, the sensation no less different so many years later.

xxxxx

_Setting her bag down, she debates whether to sit next to or across from the sleeping student. Her teeth worry her lip before she takes the seat next to him. Placing her hands on the bag, she fidgets, before nervously bringing them to her knees, opening her mouth to speak and then quickly closing, unsure of how to approach the situation._

_Looking around, she leans forward just an inch. “Are you asleep?” Her whisper coming out louder than she expected in the quiet library._

_A deep moan escapes his throat, as if he were annoyed at the question, but the implication clear, he was most definitely not asleep. Yet his eyes remain closed, as if he ignored her enough, she’d just go away._

_Lucy sighs, annoyance creeping up her throat._

_xxxxx_

“Don’t,” she warns, just as they’re interrupted, the details of their mission being explained to them, but the comprehension of what was actually happening only just dawning on them.

They wanted her to get into a time machine to save history, the strangest part being that they’d partnered her up with a man from her past that wanted nothing to do with her.

She had half a mind to respond to his _“Who’s going to be looking at your bra?”_ with a, _“Certainly not you,”_ when he’d ignored her observation about underwire, but didn’t want to drag the rest of the makeshift team into their mess.

As she nervously climbed into a death machine, she stared bewildered at the seatbelt with so many straps, fumbling with the buckles, her eyes wide with panic.

She can feel a sense of calm from Wyatt. It annoyed her.

“Are you okay?” He asks, their knees brushing against each other, and she knows he’s not just referring to the fact that they were about to travel through time, but the tight, enclosed space that felt like it was suffocating her.

She just stares at him, her eyes pleading with him, but laced with a warning to not get too close.

xxxxx

_“You know, I don’t have to be here,” she points out, about to gather her things, but stops when she sees a pair of blue eyes peeking out at her. They stop her cold, the ice blue of them seemingly freezing her, but carrying such a warmth that while remaining still, she finds her cheeks heating up at the stare that had landed on her._

_She awkwardly looks around, as if confused as to why he’s staring at her like that, before sitting down again, making herself busy by pulling out her history book from her bag._

_He still hasn’t moved from his lounged position, instead a crooked grin appearing on his face as he watches her fumble for a pencil._

_“What?” She asks, afraid she has something on her face, ducking her head so a veil of curls cover her features, except the raise of an eyebrow at him to open his own book._

_He gives a small laugh before bringing his feet down and slapping his book on the table with the loud smack that has everyone glancing over at their table._

_xxxxx_

Wyatt lets out a deep breath, almost as if signaling her to do the same, but the proximity of their bodies leaves her face to be hit with the smell of alcohol.

“Have you been drinking?” She asks, shock painted all over her face. The Wyatt she knew didn’t drink, but then again, the Wyatt she knew had long since left her behind. The man sitting across from her was a stranger.

“I didn’t know I’d be working tonight, ma’am,” and she can’t tell if it’s a habit he can’t stop at this point, the military having engrained him the gesture or an annoying tick of politeness from before that he was using to get under her skin.

xxxxx

_“So umm, what…are you having trouble with, exactly?” She asks, refusing to make eye contact with him, considering he’d been doing enough of that himself. His eyes having refused to relent in their search, it seems, right into her soul, as if she were bare to him._

_She’s met with silence, and she suspects it was on purpose, causing her eyes to wander up to catch his gaze. The soft brown meets the steel blue, and she swears she can feel the connection in her stomach, flipping until her teeth find their way to her bottom lip._

_“You can hear me, right?” She asks, a bossy, know-it-all tone, mixed with a shake to her voice she didn’t usually carry._

_He just continues to grin at her, his hands coming to rest on the table, his fingers almost twitching. He nods at her question, still refusing to speak, and her brow knits together at him, as she focuses back on the book._

_“Well, if you could answer with words, that would be great,” she sarcastically shoots at him, not sure where her bravery is coming from, though her sister Amy would be proud, always telling her to speak up, the girl herself never afraid to say what she was thinking. But Lucy’s insides rattle with nerves at addressing him._

_“Yes, ma’am,” he teases, opening up his book, and she shoots him a narrowed eye at the nickname._

_“What, is that some kind of southern thing?” She asks, more bite than confusion._

_“No, it’s a polite thing,” he says, a dimple peeking out on the left side of his cheek, and she doesn’t know why she finds him charming, his boyish looks and gorgeous eyes probably having something to do with that._

_xxxxx_

“Stop calling me ma’am,” she grits out through her teeth, grabbing hold of her seatbelt.

Lucy can still feel the warmth of his hand that had rested on the small of her back as he helped her out of the Lifeboat, the look of amusement on his face as she stood in awe of the sights and sounds of their whereabouts, almost as if he were proud of her in her element. The past coming to life in more ways than one for her right now.

He only seemed slightly annoyed when she’d dragged him up to meet Kate Drummond, the look of shock on his face as she introduced him as her brother, left a barely there pout on his lips, recovered quickly with a grin. But his charm was ignored, as she smacked him with the back of her hand against his arm, knowing he was only doing so to get under her skin.

It’s not until she feels a hand wrap around her mouth, the stale breath of a man she’d never met all but growling at her, that a surge of fear spreads through her. Her eyes growing wide, and her breath becoming deeply inhaled through her nose, as he barked his question.

Lucy’s head barely shakes, as the cold metal pushes against her back. When she’d been told the mission was dangerous, she hadn’t expected this. She was an historian, a professor, a doctor of the movements of time, and yet nothing could have prepared her for this, right here, right now. His hand pushed further against her mouth, her eyes growing wider, only to gasp for air as the man is pushed away from her.

Her hands find their way to the wall, clinging out of the way of the tussle that was happening, as Wyatt fought with the man. A gun, one from their time, has her gasping, having never actually seen Wyatt with a weapon. But given what she knew about him, she knew he could handle himself. They wouldn’t have chosen him for this mission otherwise. At least that’s what she told herself when they’d been assigned together. It has nothing to do with their history, but that he was the best.

 _“Are you two going to be able to work together?”_ Agent Christopher had asked them, a raise of her eyebrow, like she was skeptical that this would work.

Lucy had opened her mouth to debate the issue further, when he’d answered for them.

 _“What we had is history, ma’am. Nothing to worry about,”_ he’d assured them. It was like the nail in the coffin of their story. As if she needed a reminder. She’d stormed out not soon after, only to walk right back in, the allure of preserving history too good an opportunity.

The bullets landing in the man that had just cornered her, ring out even in their silenced shots. Her red stained mouth hanging open at shock at what she’d just witnessed.

Wyatt bends down to make sure the guy’s dead, as Lucy runs for the open hangar. 

Walking towards her, his face scans her frame, and she knows he’s checking to make sure she’s not hurt. At least nothing’s changed in that respect.

As she glances outside, she finds that history has already changed. She’s failed at keeping it in tact.

“Are you okay?” Wyatt asks, approaching her, reaching out for her arm, barely brushing against her clothes, when she yanks her arm away. The hurt he expected to find not so much physical, as an old emotional wound, having festered over time. She ignores the sting around her mouth, and the panic that still races through her veins.

“Flynn just saved the Hindenburg. So no, I am definitely not okay.”

Lucy stands at the hangar opening, refusing to leave, staring out at the Hindenburg, the one that most definitely should not be there. She can feel a headache coming on, the day’s events weighing heavily on her, as is Wyatt’s stare.

He comes up beside her, giving her space, but still letting her know he’s there.

She hasn’t been this close to him in years before today. The questions that keep her up late night, the ones she can never quite figure out the answers to, bubble up to the tip of her tongue. She turns to ask, as he leans his head out to get a view. But she stop, hesitates, quickly closing her mouth, and looking ahead.

Lucy gives a deep sigh, a slight shake of her head, the anger boiling up inside of her. She can’t understand how he can be so…calm. It’s as if nothing that had happened between them meant anything. He was completely comfortable just standing next to her, like they were strangers who had just met.

“You shouldn’t have brought that gun,” she shoots at him.

“Oh, the one I saved your ass with?” He counters. That stupid grin that she’d spent hours tracing, memorizing its path with her fingertips, staring back at her. That smug grin she couldn’t get enough of, now mocks her.

She can feel the frustration getting to her, ready to throw up her hands at how absolutely stubborn he could be.

The explanation of nazis surrounding them only fueling his stance that things were going to get messy.

She nods her head, not sure if he’s talking about the mission or them, but she knows it’s the truth. That if her job is to make sure things don’t get messy, she’s going to fail just as miserably as she’d done before.

“Like us?” She counters, and he freezes, slowly turning his head towards her, wiping the smug grin off his face.

He stares at her, his eyes clouded with something she can’t quite make out, but she knows she’s caught him. That he feels just the slightest bit of pain that he’d caused her for so many years. Her eyes pleading with him to explain. But he walks off towards Rufus, leaving her.

xxxxx

_“Well…stop,” she stumbles, tucking her curls behind her ear, before continuing, and she swears his grin gets bigger._

_“It might be easier to do that if I knew your name,” he says with a laugh._

_She sighs, having just realized that they never even exchanged names, instead just the heat that had been radiating off of her since sitting down next to him. She’s had crushes on guys before, sure, but that was always as far as anything went. An awkward hello, and adoration that was never mutual. She was sure this would be no different. But he just kept looking at her._

_“Lucy,” she quickly says, peeking at him._

_“Wyatt,” he introduces himself, and she finds herself repeating the name in her head. She startles when his hand reaches out to flip the page of her book to where they needed to be._

_He tries not to laugh at her, but doesn’t do much to bite back the smile at her jumping back in her seat at his movement._

_xxxxx_

As if by some sick cosmic twist, they find themselves in a jail cell, locked up, together.

The hard mattress below her offers little comfort, and she balls her hand when she thinks of who might have been on this bed before her. She lays dejectedly, as Wyatt nearly paces the concrete floor, hanging his arms over the bars of the cell, tempted to rip the metal apart to get them out.

She can feel his frustration, never to the point of boiling, but rather a slow simmer beneath. She’d seen it only a handful of times with him. Usually, he kept his cool to the point of irritating her. But for some reason, he’s on edge.

xxxxx

_She’s not really sure how she managed to get through that first session, her nerves blistering away as they went on. But he was smart, picked up on things easily, and she found herself impressed and a bit curious as to why she was actually tutoring him._

_Lucy finds herself opening her mouth to ask, when they’re interrupted._

_“You ready to go?” A tall blonde asks, appearing behind them. She’s dressed in a tank top, the heat demanding so, as she stood leaning against one of the stacks._

_Lucy can’t help the surge of jealousy, as she looks down at herself, her own shirt covered in a grey sweater, her contrasting dark curls couldn’t have been anymore different than the girl hovering over them._

_“Yep,” Wyatt says, but she swears she hears a hint of reluctance, or maybe her mind is just offering her up a morsel of hope to the situation._

_xxxxx_

“Wyatt,” she starts, sitting up from her spot on the bed. He glances back at her before coming to sit next to her on the bench.

“Lucy,” he counters, slumping in his seat.

“So…how’s Jessica?” She asks, staring at her hands, her hair falling into her face, as she attempts to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

He nearly snorts with a laugh.

“I wouldn’t know,” he states matter of factly.

“Oh,” she quietly responds, as she chances a glance at him.

“It was my fault,” he says with such a sadness to his voice, she swears she can see the haunting regret shadow his blue eyes, leaving tears in their wake, pricking at his eyes. “If I could go back and change one thing…” He trails off, and she finds her own pang of regret gathering in her chest.

She stares at his retreating figure, feeling as if he had left her all over again. The realization that he had never seen a future with them. How easily he’d left, how quickly he’d forgotten. The long list of regrets limited to only one, and it wasn’t his leaving her.

Lucy can’t get that thought out of her mind, abandoning the bed to stand against the cell, wanting to be the first to leave when they were released. The enclosure feeling like it was closing in on her the longer she stood near him. The past swirling all around them, shackling them to each other in an escapable truth that neither of them were able to acknowledge.

A self-satisfied, told-you-so look is shot at him when the cop makes a comment about his gun, something he should have expected.

But what she hadn’t been expecting was the gawking stare at her chest she received in return. The audacity of him to think he had any right after what had happened to so obviously leer at her. She narrows her eyes when she realizes what he’s doing, crossing her arms around herself and turning around.

_The nerve._

The stare only intensifying when she finds herself removing her shirt, her bare back exposed to him as she removes her underwire bra for the cause. She swears she can feel his fingers where his eyes now roam. The calluses of his palm against her skin, softly floating over her ribcage, scattering goosebumps as his touch ghosted over her. His eyes now trailing the same path his hands once forged,with a look of jealousy of his younger self at what he had, and what he’d lost. It’s the first real sign that she hadn’t lost him completely, and although he ducks his head embarrassedly when she catches him, she smiles to herself as she tosses him the bra.

xxxxx

 _“Just ask them why they really chose you,”_ she keeps repeating in her head. The question that had plagued her since first being paired up with Wyatt, refusing to accept that it was just happenstance.

Pulling on her sweater, she grabs her bag and takes off after Wyatt, seeing him quickly stride out the door.

“Hey,” she calls out for him, and he stops, but she swears she sees him sigh, as if preparing himself for another interaction with her. But his eyes suggest a sort of relief, perhaps that she wasn’t being held as a human shield with only his marksmanship to depend on.

“Why didn’t you take the shot…afraid you’d miss?” She asks, only half joking, but he stops as she continues to walk, as if offended that she’d suggest such a thing. And she’s not sure if he’s more offended that she questioned his skill or his willingness to care about her wellbeing.

“Lucy, I would never…” he pauses, searching her eyes for an answer to a question he hadn’t asked, but then suppresses whatever emotion he’d shown his hand at, instead stifling it somewhere deep inside himself “Maybe be a little more careful next time. Ma’am,” he adds with a grin, but it’s pained, as if the thought of something having happened to her was slowly killing him inside.

She knew he only used the nickname when he either tried to get a rise out of her or to show affection. She takes it that while he can’t say as much, she was never _that_ expendable to him. After all, it is his job to protect her. But she finds herself wondering how much of it is obligation and how much is a need to keep her safe because maybe he still felt something for her.

“Wyatt,” she says, stepping closer. “What you said…earlier, about wanting to change one thing…”

He nods, his hands coming to bury in his pockets, as if keeping them from reaching out.

“Maybe…we’re not meant to change the past. Maybe some things are just…”

“Fate?” He finishes for her, an almost angry look passing across his face. A stubbornness to believe that his choices mattered, that it was never too late to fix what he’d messed up.

He gives that grin again, a pithy laugh escaping his lips, as if contemplating the idea of fate, before leaning but an inch from her.

“You’re in control of your own fate, Luce,” the whisper of his words skimming over her skin, and she finds her short nails digging into her palm, as her eyes flitter shut. The warmth of having him so close only jarred when he backs away as quickly as he’d leaned in, the cold seeping into their bubble, leaving an absence that was all too familiar.

xxxxx

_Ducking her head, she pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, having been warned that Texas doesn’t actually enter fall into well into what would be winter everywhere else. But she finds the extra layer offers more a shrouding of her embarrassment than any sort of comfortable warmth._

_“See ya, tomorrow…ma’am,” he teases, as he gathers his things, and she can’t help but force an annoyed smile at him, the kind that has her pursing her lips, and scrunching her nose, causing him to laugh._

_“See ya…” she quietly responds, almost to herself, as he walks off, the blonde slinging an arm around Wyatt’s shoulders, Lucy quickly turning back to her book, as to not stare. Stifling any feelings she may have had, assuring herself that whatever had happened that afternoon would never happen again. She was expendable to a guy like him, she was just a girl he found nerdily amusing, and nothing more._

_xxxxx_

His retreating figure leaving Lucy to stand by herself and wonder what exactly it was he wanted to change, and if her fight to preserve the past would mold a future that would lead him to be a part of her life again.


	2. Chapter 2

_Lucy sits in the library, her pen working furiously to scribble in her journal. The frustration she’d felt with her mom earlier that morning still ringing in her ears, demanding it be written out, a documentation of the event inked into existence by her account._

_With a sigh, she pauses, tracing the string of the brightly colored bracelet on her wrist, a ghost of a smile appearing on her lips, the one calm in her otherwise irritated day. She’d woken up this morning to find that the paper she’d written the night before had been deleted. What she had thought had been a good analysis of Gettysburg, had led to her own Civil War this morning._

_It wasn’t the first time she’d woken to find a hard night’s work deleted because it hadn’t been deemed good enough. She knew it was meant to be a motivator, and in a way it was. Lucy knew she would spend tonight working to make her paper even better than it had been. But the constant strive to be better often left her feeling inadequate, like no matter what she did, she was never going to measure up, doomed to loom in the shadow of her mother. And while she was usually quite content to do so, sometimes she’d found herself dipping a toe into the light…before quickly pulling back into darkness._

_However, that morning, she’d just felt frustration, and she’d stormed upstairs, grabbed her bag and was about to head out, when her little sister, Amy, had rushed up with a sweet smile, her blonde hair falling in her eyes, her small hand holding a friendship bracelet she’d made._

_Lucy had kissed her cheek goodbye, and rushed out the door._

xxxxx

Storming back into Mason Industries, Lucy finds tears pricking at her eyes. Shaking her head, she mutters to herself, like if she said it enough, it would be true. She doesn’t even see Wyatt as she rushes back in, slamming right into him.

“Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?” He immediately asks, his hands coming to rest on her arms, shaking her out of the trance she seemed to be in, and instead focusing on the rise and fall of his eye lids as they blink with concern.

“Amy’s gone,” she exclaims, worry rolling off of her in waves. Wyatt’s brow furrows, not quite understanding what she’s saying. His confused look only strikes more panic in her. “Gone, as in, erased from history, like she never existed.”

By now, the rest of the team has gathered around her, claiming the same thing that her now very much healthy mother had, that there was no Amy. Except Lucy knew that there was. The sassy blonde that had encouraged her to stand up for herself, the one who lied to their mother when Lucy’s hand was showing, the one who had made her friendship bracelets and lurked around the corner with an all too knowing toothy smile whenever Wyatt had been over.

“Look,” she fumbles for her locket, her shaky hands opening up the trinket to reveal one side to contain a photo of her sister. “This is her, right here,” she points out, not even bothering to cover the photo on the other side, the one that contains a younger version of herself with wild curls and a blue eyed boy kissing her cheek.

“She exists, I’ve met her,” Wyatt argues, and Lucy silently thanks him, thinking maybe if two of them remember than she couldn’t be going crazy.

“Wait, you knew Lucy before this?” Rufus asks, as if suddenly piecing together conversations that made way more sense now.

“I’d say he more than _knew_ her,” Connor mutters to himself.

“Stop! Whatever changed, you have to change it back. _Change. it. back_ ,” Lucy punctuates each word with an air of desperation, her tears threatening to make their treacherous fall, as looks shared between Agent Christopher and Connor Mason to help her.

Her feelings are nearly cast aside for the bigger picture, being forced into that death machine once again to save history. The fear that not only would she once again change _her_ history, but be unable to save the life she once knew, weighing heavily on her.

“Hey, give her a damn minute, she just lost her sister,” Wyatt all but yells, and she finds herself silently begging him to fix this. The cut on his eye twitching at the thought of being helpless, no words able to soothe the emotional wound that had inflicted on her.

“April 14, 1865,” the date rustling her out of her own head, momentarily quelling her concerns.

“What’s so special about that date?” Rufus asks, stunned that Lucy so quickly gave in to another mission.

“The assassination of Abraham Lincoln,” Wyatt answers for her, as she continues up the stairs, crestfallen.

xxxxx

_Her fingertips trace over the blue string intertwined with all the other brightly colored pieces, that particular color for some reason standing out to her._

_“What are you doing?” She hears, sending her flying in her seat, causing a guttural laugh to escape Wyatt’s lips._

_“Do you enjoy scaring me?” She says with a narrowed eye that he doesn’t even acknowledge as actual anger at this point._

_He smiles back at her, taking the seat that he’s claimed as his own every school day for the past couple of weeks._

_“You know what, don’t answer that. I know you do,” she says, closing her journal, and shoving it in her backpack, while yanking out the heavy history book._

_“What do you write in there, anyway?” He asks with an ease, no longer slamming down his own book, attracting the attention of everyone. Instead gently placing the book down, opening it up to the page they’d covered in class._

_“Stuff,” Lucy vaguely answers, not wanting to get into what she chooses to divulge into the privacy of a shrouded cover of inked pages. The last thing she would want is for him to find that most of what she’s been writing lately involves him, save for the frustration of her mother. Usually, she found herself writing about how quickly he would get an answer or the cadence of his voice when he asked a question, the exact point where a dimple appeared when he grinned. An endless examination of the exact color of blue that were his eyes, only to settle one one, to find that with a different emotion, they’d shift like the tide, revealing a new depth. But mostly she wrote about their tutoring sessions being the best part of her day._

_She was new, she didn’t have any friends. The only person she found herself having a conversation with, aside from her teachers and family, was Wyatt._

_“Stuff, huh?” He says with a slight nod of his head. “Am I included in this…stuff?” He asks, a shit eating grin on his face._

_Lucy finds herself nervously pushing her curls behind her ear, as she crosses her arms, closing herself off._

_“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you,” she says with a bravado he’s already figured out._

_Wyatt leans closer, and she can smell the mint of his gum on his breath, and she finds her eyes wandering to his lips that move with the chew of his mouth. The brown hue fluttering up to the blue that refused to ever leave her own gaze._

_“I would,” he all but whispers, his breath hitting her face, causing a blush to rise from her cheeks._

_“Well,” she stutters, looking away, breaking the contact, pulling her sweater closer around her. “You’re not.” Daring a glance at him, she swears she sees a flash of hurt pass over him, almost as if he didn’t actually believe that he would be included, like he didn’t register to her outside of these tutoring sessions. But it’s quickly covered by a quirk of his lips, shifting the mood._

_It seemed she wasn’t the only one putting up a front when it came to the other._

xxxxx

Lucy precariously makes her way into the Lifeboat, her hoop skirt threatening to hit her in the face, and making her already shaky balance teeter on the edge of beyond clumsy. She doesn’t miss Wyatt’s hands reaching out, almost on instinct to catch her as she maneuvers her way into her seat, hitting him with her skirt on the way down.

“Whoa,” he nearly laughs, and she finds herself apologizing, having no control of the fabric surrounding her. “Sit, please,” he teases, and then bites back a smile, sensing that her nerves are once again surfacing, exacerbated this time with the worry over her sister.

As Wyatt leans forward, grasping both of the straps of her seatbelt, she surrenders to the feel of his fingers guiding over her torso as he makes sure she’s buckled in. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but rather one she hadn’t experienced in a while. This job, the one in which he was essentially assigned to protect her, wasn’t something new. He’d been doing so since the day they met, whether he knew it or not. And it wasn’t because he thought she was weak or somehow incapable of doing so herself. But rather a sign that he cared.

It was this that sent a flare up from her heart through her chest into her throat. The one that had her choking back everything she wanted to say, as she glanced up at his face, her eyes searching his own, until he yanked on the straps, securing her.

“Luce,” he breathes, like a reflex he couldn’t quit if he tried, an exhale to the slow intake of her brown eyes focused on his face, tearing up with emotion, and refusing to leave the steady calm of his blue. “We’re gonna fix it,” he vows, as if there was no other option. They were going to get Amy back. “I promise.”

She lowers her eyes, silently nodding at his words, not even the slightest bit weary on whether he would actually keep his word this time. The conviction with which he spoke, he was being honest. They may not succeed, although she hoped that wasn’t the case, but she knew without a doubt, that he would die trying to fix this for her.

xxxxx

_“So umm,” she says, shuffling to the edge of her seat, bringing her leg to sit underneath her, settling in for the next hour. “Did you start your paper yet?”_

_“Ugh,” he groans, clearly not having given any thought to the assignment. “I bet you’re already finished, right?” His pencil bouncing between the pages, his fingers dexterously spinning it around. She grits her teeth, before she reaches out, placing her hand on his to still his movement._

_The gesture not only freezes his hand, but both of them, suspended in a moment, teetering between the fallout, and Lucy swears she can hear the erratic beat of her heart as her hand quickly snaps back to her book, as if she’d been burned. The heat gathering on her cheeks, flushing her eyes to almost a dark black that she knows Wyatt notices._

_She expects him to make a snide remark, to tease her, but she finds him just as quiet as she is, a look of realization on his face, of what she can’t decide._

_“I’m probably gonna write about…uhh,” she pauses, nervously twisting the bracelet on her wrist._

_He waits, not dismissing her, but always wanting to hear what she has to say, as if she were important._

_“Well, I did write about…Gettysburg, but…it…got deleted, so…” she trails off again, closing her mouth, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, refusing to look up at him._

_“Hmm,” he says, as if sensing that that was more to that story, but not wanting to push her into telling him what had happened. An understanding between the two of them as they delved into their work. “I was thinking of writing about battlefield injuries. Pretty stupid, huh?” He quickly amends, as if embarrassed at the suggestion._

_Lucy perks at his topic, thankful for the distraction._

_“Actually, that’s a really good idea. A lot of the practices that we still use today were implemented during the Civil War,” she says with all the confidence, encouraging him._

_A satisfied smile makes its way to his face, and she’s not sure if it’s about his paper idea or how often she finds herself embarrassing herself with her enthusiasm for the subject._

_“‘If we stand firm, we shall not fail,’” she mutters under her breath, a quiet mantra._

_“What was that?” He says, leaning towards her._

_“Nothing, just…Lincoln,” she says, biting her lip._

_“Of course it is,” he concedes with a grin shot her way, and they continue on with their session._

xxxxx

“So Booth walks into Ford’s Theatre at exactly 10 a.m., huh? Not 9:56? 10:07?” Wyatt jokes, and she can’t tell if he’s trying to ease the tension of the mission at hand or is genuinely questioning her knowledge of the event.

“Hundreds of books have been written about Booth’s movement’s today,” she offers up as a testament to the fact.

“Including your own,” he says, glancing over at her with a raised eyebrow, and she finds herself trying to not to show how shocked she is that he actually knows that.

“You…read my book?” She asks, raising her own brow, daring him to admit as much.

“I might have skimmed a few pages,” he confesses, and she files away the fact that he’s been keeping up with her during the years, hidden in a blush and a quick turn to Rufus.

The theatre shrouds them in darkness as her and Wyatt make their way to the stage.

“Did these books happen to mention where the mailboxes were?” He says, a frustrated air to his tone, causing them to split up, and her to run smack into Robert Todd Lincoln.

She tries to hide the awe on her face, but she’s always been something of an open book when it comes to her admiration, and this time is no different. Wyatt once told her that there was an endearing earnestness to her when she was nervously scrambling, and while she’d shot him a look that had him holding up his hands in surrender at the confession, she hoped that the effect would also be charming in this situation.

Robert was handsome and kind, and had such a charm about him that she knew even if his father wasn’t someone for whom she’d admired for most of her life, she’d have still found him someone that made her nervous.

She even finds herself relating to him in a sense at the mention of living in the shadow of a parent. She too has felt nothing shy of paling in comparison to the accomplishments of someone she revered. Even more so now that she’s entered a life where her mother is well and able to continue her work. But she finds herself wondering if pride for her mother always has to equal control.

One thing’s for sure, she certainly didn’t have control over anything that seemingly happened to them, or so it felt.

xxxxx

“Wyatt, you’re bleeding!” Lucy exclaims, once they’ve gotten to the street, sure that Flynn and his conspirators weren’t still shooting at them from behind. “Oh my God,” she says with a shake of her head, one of her hands flying to her mouth, the other reaching out as if to help, but flinching back, not wanting to hurt him further.

“It’s fine,” he says, shaking off her concern, but he hisses when he moves, and she knows he has a high tolerance for pain, but a gunshot wound isn’t something to downplay.

Sending Rufus for supplies, they head for the hotel, and even though he’d claim otherwise, she can hear the hiss when she refers to Wyatt as her brother, again, playing it off like it was his injury. But she doesn’t miss the flash of annoyance at having to be related, not through marriage, but blood.

“Wyatt, you need a doctor,” she says, shuffling him into the room, the crimson red having soaked through his white shirt, a bullet hole marring his skin, as he yanks his shirt up.

It’s her turn to hiss as she sees the damage inflicted upon him. It’s not the first time she’s bared witness to such an act, but it’s certainly the first inflicted by a gun.

Lucy’s face contorts in worry, eyes flickering to the door, hoping for Rufus to bust through with the supplies they need.

“Help me get this off,” he pleads, her hands coming to help him, but he grunts in pain at the pull of the wound with his arms extended, the sound reverberating in her own side, sending a sharp intake in her chest.

“This would take fifteen minutes to patch up at home. Here, I’m gonna die of sepsis,” he says, looking down at this wound.

“Don’t say that,” she nearly whispers, the thought of losing him too threatening to be her undoing so soon after Amy.

Grabbing her eye with a tilt of his head, she knows he can see the tears gathering.

“I’ll be fine, Luce.”

And she refuses to break her stare even when Rufus comes in, scrambling as he’s nominated to retrieve the bullet.

“Why me?”

“Because she’ll faint,” he points to her with a knowing smile that quickly turns to a grimace as he moves.

xxxxx

_Wyatt had left with Jessica, leaving her to collect her things, gathering them in her bag before heading out of the school._

_She quickly throws up her hair as she heads out, the heat beating down on her, and refusing to let up. She was still unaccustomed to its never-ending shine, her pale skin hiding underneath sweaters, and her long curls only adding to the weight of the heat._

_Hair successfully piled atop her head, she continues to her car, until she sees him._

_Wyatt’s sitting on the bench in front of the school under an awning, his friends nowhere in sight._

_Scuffing her converse as she drags her feet over to him, she grips the straps of her backpack, needing something to hold onto as she approaches him._

_“Hey,” she says, and nearly kicks herself for how lame she sounds, a scrunch of her nose indicating to him her insecurity._

_She’s beginning to think he spends more time fighting back a smile at her than anything, but she decides she likes that he tries to spare her, even if he fails miserably._

_“Hey,” he responds back in kind._

_“Where’s Jessica?” She asks, nearly biting her tongue at having mentioned her name._

_“I don’t know, probably getting ready for the football game,” he shrugs. Clearly not interested._

_“You’re not going?” Lucy asks, Jessica not striking her as someone who would spend her time watching sports, and certainly not without Wyatt._

_“Let’s just say I’m not allowed to step foot near the bleachers,” he says with a wink, and Lucy’s face contorts into one of confusion. “Don’t worry, I’ve since…seen the light,” he explains, but doesn’t choose to elaborate further._

xxxxx

She can hear the nerves in her own voice, the shake of her hands as she smoothes her dress down. The soft baby blue playing with the curl of her tendrils.

The biting of her lip, the hunch of her shoulders, signaling for an approval on her appearance. One in which Wyatt was happy to oblige, his crooked, dimpled grin making an appearance, despite an argument on the dealings of fate earlier.

It’s all she can hear in her head as she prepares for her date of sorts with a man whose father is going to die. Wyatt having felt very strongly that there is no such things as meant to be, the past a series of moving pieces that one could just so easily be manipulated to fix a future that he wanted rather than the one he was dealt.

He hadn’t brought up Jessica like she had expected, so sure that she was the one he was referring to when he mentioned the past. The comparison of saving Lincoln with saving her sister had stung. One a tragic event that had been written in time, the other a consequence of having messed with time.

There was something Wyatt wanted to change, that much she knew, and it was almost if he was seeking approval from her in order to do so.

But as she stands in front of him, awkwardly holding a gun, he pushes the barrel down into her purse, both him and Rufus promising to do their part.

“Lucy, be careful,” Wyatt warns, knowing what awaits her later that night.

xxxxx

Rufus’ words, “think about who you save,” playing in her mind as she stares down at her blood stained dress. Her neck pulses with a sting from being choked, but falls faint in her ears under the weight of knowing what had just happened. 

Lucy stares numbly ahead, a delayed reaction from the night, tears gathering in her eyes, as she explains how different it all feels when you actually witness the history you’ve long since memorized, realizing it was so much more than just a story one absorbed in a book, but a real life person who was brutally murdered and changed everything.

“I tried,” she tearfully explains, the reality refusing to let up, paralleling with the idea that maybe fate was too strong, maybe even if she tried to get Amy back, no matter what she did, she’d be lost forever. 

Lucy closes her eyes, treacherous tears staining her face at all that had already been written, unable for her to undo.

She feels her hand being lifted, a familiar thread of skin washing over her own. Wyatt’s thumb dancing across her knuckles, a gentle squeeze letting her know that he was still there. She hadn’t lost him just yet, not in the way she thought she had just a few days ago. He was back in her life in a sick twist of fate, and she starts to wonder if maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be.

The look he’s giving her stands as more than just a comforting okay that everything would be fine, but rather one she’d seen before, laced in fear with a promise that they’d get through this together. His hand an anchor that he wasn’t going anywhere without her, until he did. But this time, as he reached over to strap her in, he never broke eye contact. She needed him, and he was there.

xxxxx

_“Oh, umm, did you…need a ride then?” She finds herself asking, and even his eyes looks shocked at the offer, mirroring the wide brown of her own. She’s not sure where that question came from, except she does, the part of her that enjoys spending time with him._

_“Sure,” he says standing, before she can find an out to her offer. “Lead the way,” he gestures with his hand, and she awkwardly makes her way towards her car._

_She’s silent as they shuffle through the empty parking lot, everyone else having headed home, leaving just the two of them. Wyatt not so slyly glancing over at her as they walk, but she chooses to pretend that she can’t tell until they reach the black car in the corner._

_Unlocking the door, they climb in._

_“You gonna turn on the car or do you enjoy watching me sweat?” He jokes, and she has to bring her teeth to bite down on her lip to keep from answering that question honestly._

_Turning the car on, she waits for the air conditioner to offer them some relief in the interior that resembles that of an oven, having been sitting out in the sun all day._

_Reaching for her seatbelt, she goes to buckle herself in, forgetting where she was, and scalds her hand on the metal._

_“Shit,” she shrieks, immediately dropping the offending object, having it slap back to the side of the car, as she shakes her hand, bringing it to her mouth._

_“Here, let me see, “ he grabs her hand, and she’s only mildly aware of what’s happening until she finds her hand being cradled by his two much larger hands. There’s no visible injury, just a warning pinch of a burn on a hot day,._

_“It’s fine,” she chokes out, not wanting him to let go, but also finding herself unable to say much else._

_His fingers dance across her palm, as if he’s reading her lifeline, and if here were skilled at doing so, he’d find that her heart was about to give out right at that moment, as he sat gently tracing the lines of her hands, making sure she was okay. His thumb moving over her knuckles, simultaneously relaxing her while also tensing every muscle in her body._

_She almost lets out a groan when he lets go, only to weakly inhale when she finds his whole body leaning against her, as he reaches for her seatbelt, those same dexterous hands that had twirled his pen now working with the strap to come across her chest and over her stomach, his scent overwhelming her, the heat from him lingering between their bodies, threatening to engulf them both in the Texas sun. This close she can see every fleck of stubble that lingers on his face, the curvature of his jaw, and the tiniest hint of a dimple as he moves._

_It’s only when she hears the click of the seatbelt that she’s shaken from her reverie._

_“Umm, thanks,” she gets out, nearly breathless._

_She half expects him to laugh, but she hears nothing._

_“No problem,” he says, almost as if he couldn’t believe he’d just done that either._

xxxxx

“Who should we call to pick you up?”

“I’ll…uhh, call a cab,” she hears him as she turns the corner.

“It’s fine, I’ll drive him,” she speaks up with a half smile, casting a glance at the wound.

“You know, you didn’t have to do this,” he says from the passenger seat, as Lucy makes her way around the city.

“Shut up, Wyatt, I wasn’t going to let you take a cab home when you’re hurt,” she throws a look at him, one he knows is best not to argue with.

“So Jiya, did she…help with your sister?” He asks, and she finds herself swallowing the anger she felt at her mother.

She nods, wanting nothing more than to shut her eyes on this day, but knowing that a confrontation was going to happen, so she relished the quiet contentment resting in the car with him.

“My umm, dad…wasn’t really my dad. My mom’s been lying to me my whole life,” she says with a sardonic tone.

Wyatt lets out a huff of a laugh, but not in a way that he actually finds the situation funny, but the kind where he’s not at all surprised by her mother’s actions. It has her twisting her face, because she has a feeling she can’t even begin to know when it comes to her mother.

“She’s a piece of work,” he says with a shake of his head, and while she can’t see him well in the darkness, it feels like there’s more to his claim than just what she’d told him.

“Yeah,” she breathes.

“It’s just up here,” he points, and she pulls into the parking lot.

“This is where you’re staying?” She asks, peeking through the windshield at a nondescript building.

“It’s fine, Lucy. I just got here, remember? I haven’t exactly had time to make it home,” he says, not quite reaching for the door. 

“Do you want me to walk you in?” She says, images of his wound playing in her mind.

“And delay the conversation with your mom? I don’t think so,” he says with a jerk of his head, as if he were looking forward to the confrontation himself. 

xxxxx

_They sit in silence long enough that the air actually starts to become cold, startling Lucy into pulling out of the parking lot._

_“Where’d you get the bracelet?” He wonders, having seen it when he’d checked her hand._

_Lucy can’t help the smile that appears on her face at the thought of Amy._

_“My sister,” she offers, the smile refusing to leave. “She gave it to me this morning,” and she reaches over to trace over it again, the string of blue._

_When he doesn’t respond, she continues._

_“She’s a lot younger than me, so she’s always making me things in school. She can be a little annoying at times, but I love her,” she laughs. “Do you have any siblings?”_

_“No,” he says curtly._

_“Ahh, you’re the favorite then,” she tries to tease, but the laugh that comes from him isn’t like the one she’s used to. This one is more sardonic, as if the thought of him being liked was something foreign to him._

_“You can drop me off up here,” he motions to a gas station._

_“What? I can drop you off at home, it’s no big deal,” she tries, but he’s not having it._

_“No, here’s fine,” he argues, refusing to budge on the offer._

_“Oh…okay,” she says pulling into the station, dejectedly, feeling like she’d done something wrong._

_“Thanks for the ride, ma’am,” he says, as if his mood had changed already, back to teasing her._

_She tries to keep from rolling her eyes, but he’s already out the door, leaving Lucy confused by everything that had just happened._

xxxxx

She gives an unsure sigh.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures her. 

“I…I don’t know if I can do this,” she admits, and if there was ever a doubt of how well he knew her, she takes it as a sign that he knew she wasn’t just talking about her mother.

Wyatt turns in his seat, a grimace flashing across his face until he’s facing her.

“You are the smartest person I know, and pretty damn strong too. You can do this,” he says, reaching out, his thumb coming to trace the already forming bruise on her neck, before tucking her hair behind her ear, his brow furrowing, as if just realizing something.

“What?” She questions, and he just kind of shrugs. 

“Your hair is straighter now,” he states with a grin, dropping his hand back down.

She gives another sigh at the loss of contact, thankful that the darkness is able to conceal the slight heating of her cheeks that he’s managed to cause even years later.

The ringing of her phone interrupting them.

“My mom,” she points, refusing to answer.

“Give her hell,” he says, as he turns to exit, leaving her with her thoughts of anger and confusion as to what exactly her mother had been up to all these years.


	3. Chapter 3

_Lucy moves to check her watch again. He’s late. She sighs heavily, as she looks around the library. She has her history book pulled out, her journal resting on her lap, and her pencil irritatingly tapping against the table._

_She hasn’t seen Wyatt since she dropped him off at the gas station on Friday._

_Every time she felt like she was getting to know him or at least a little closer to having a conversation that didn’t revolve around school work, he shut her off, changing the subject, or in the case of last Friday, jumping out of her car before she even got to his house._

_It wasn’t that he was impersonal, he asked her questions about herself all the time or had discernibly picked up on the details through observation. But whenever she tried to move the conversation, he’d shut her down or try to charm his way into switching the topic back over to her or the assignment at hand._

_As she’d made her way home Friday, dejected at how they’d left things, she’d been caught off guard to find that her mom had invited people over. The house had been full of stuffy professor types, and powerful looking people that she wasn’t sure how they were acquainted with her mom._

_She had tried to slink past the crowd into her room, but she’d been intercepted by her eager-faced mother, forced to be paraded around to these strangers. The same introduction, always, with a set of plans for her future that she wasn’t quite sure were so much her idea as they’d been set for her since birth. A notion that had been weighing heavily on her mind more and more as the year progressed._

_She had put on a fake smile, her dimples never making their appearance, instead a nod of her head, a shake of her hand, a frowning disapproval at her attire, her mother apologizing for her, as if they cared._

_“This is Luke,” she’d said with a knowing grin, as she introduced her to a boy her own age. She recognized him from her English class. He’d asked to borrow a pencil from her the other day, but hadn’t spoken a word to her otherwise._

_Lucy had given the same smile she’d forced at the dozen other people she’d met. Her mother rattled off his father’s accomplishments, as if they were meant to impress her, before whispering in her ear, “Be nice, you two could hit it off.” Gripping her shoulders, an awkward grimace of a smile coming to Lucy’s lips, as her mom walked off._

_“So…” he’d started, giving her a once over, which had her crossing her arms in front of her, narrowing her eye at him, while bringing her long curls forward, almost like a shield to hide her._

_“If you’ll excuse me, I have to find my sister,” she’d only half-lied, a disingenuous apology, and a quirk of her lips as she left the guy standing there gawking after her._

_Rushing up the stairs, she’d locked her door, sliding down the wall, eyes closed, hair trailing above her as she settled on the floor._

_“That bad?” Amy asks, looking over from Lucy’s bed, before getting up and making her way over to the young girl. She may be young, but her sister was wise._

_Waving her hand, she gestures for Amy to move over, clumsily kicking off her shoes, crawling into the bed, and wrapping her sister up into a hug._

xxxxx

Lucy’s yellow dress sways with her movement, the 60s attire far more comfortable than the corsets and hoop skirts she’d found herself wearing before. But as she makes her way into the Lifeboat, it’s not the dress that’s weighing her down this time, but the diamond reflecting light on her finger. Her mind swirls with the idea of having to deal with this new person suddenly thrust into her life.

Engaged.

She can’t say she’d never thought about getting married. The notion had crossed her mind more than once, although in every scenario it wasn’t Noah, this stranger, that had given her a ring, instead it was the man that was sitting in front of her that she’d imagined. The one who with a sigh, leans over to strap her in.

“Nice rock,” he jokes, glancing over at the ring, grabbing the strap from that side. “You’re really getting into these costumes,” he says with a laugh, his fingers brushing against her ribs.

Flexing her hand to look down at the diamond adorning her finger, she finds herself pursing her lips with a tilt of her head, almost reluctant in admitting this piece of information to him, but curious how he’d react.

“No, apparently, I’m engaged,” she reveals, almost phrasing it as a question, still unsure of how exactly she’d managed to pull herself together enough to be able to function in a relationship serious enough for marriage after what happened.

Wyatt stills at the confession, momentarily abandoning the task of buckling her in, and stares at her with shock and almost a flash of disappointment sulking on his face.

“To who?” He grits out, his disapproval evident in his tone.

“Exactly. His name is Noah. I’ve never met him before, but there’s all these pictures of us at the beach that I have no memory of.”

“You hate the beach…” Wyatt says, she assumes out of habit. The list of things he knows about her are extensive, one of which being that she doesn’t care for the beach. She’s always preferred something more cultural, a city to explore and discover. The water only furthering her hesitance to spend any amount of time around the ocean.

“Apparently, there’s a version of me that doesn’t, and she got engaged…to Noah,” she frustratingly admits, as Wyatt resumes his task, spinning her this way and that to make sure she was safe.

“You gonna take his name or are you gonna keep yours?” He jokes, focusing on the buckles, before peeking up at her with a half grin, those blue eyes revealing more than just jealousy playing with his emotions, because she swears she sees regret floating in there somewhere too. The fact that there was a point in her life when she thought she’d be a Logan plays heavily on her mind.

“I don’t even know his last name,” she replies matter of factly, putting on white gloves, hoping to hide the ring from prying eyes.

Wyatt plays like he doesn’t care, but if there’s one thing she knows, if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t ask. 

“Well, look on the bright side…”

“There’s a bright side?” She pessimistically wonders, eyes wide.

“You still have the honeymoon to look forward to. He’ll probably taking you to a beach,” Wyatt says with a wink, like the idea that he knows more about her than her fiancé is something he takes pride in.

“Plus, you get to go to Vegas,” Rufus chimes in, like the city of impromptu elopements was exactly where she wanted to go at the moment.

xxxxx

_She’d spent the rest of the weekend rewriting her history paper, and playing over conversations in her mind of what she was going to say to Wyatt come Monday. A script of sorts playing in her head, a plan._

_All of which had flown out the window as the minutes ticked by. While irritation and anger competed against each other, at the forefront was dsiappointment leading the race._

_She attempts to start her homework without him, but she’s too distracted, and finds herself checking her watch every five seconds. That is until she looks up to see Jessica hanging around one of the stacks, glancing back at her with her friend._

_Lucy tries not to make eye contact, the girl having never once said a word to her despite meeting Wyatt nearly every day after their sessions._

_“Who’s that?” Jessica’s friend asks loudly, motioning with her eyes towards Lucy, which has Lucy herself ducking her head, pretending to write, so as to not to appear to be eavesdropping, even though they were speaking loudly._

_“Oh, she’s just a tutor,” Jessica dismissively replies, and although Lucy doesn’t know this girl, she can’t help but feel every insecurity rear its ugly head. Straightening her back momentarily before slumping forward, her resolve threatens to crack._

_Lucy had always acknowledged that she was something of a nerd. She wasn’t naive in thinking that loving history and musicals, staying in to study for a test over going to a party made her cool. But she’d always had a group of friends that at the very least made her feel she wasn’t alone, contentedly self-confident in who she was. Here, she found herself struggling, lost in the crowd, shunned by most, the comment just another reminder that that all she was to everyone, who she was to Wyatt, was just a tutor. A nerd._

_Suddenly, the idea of sitting around waiting for a guy who hadn’t given her a second thought, who found her so insignificant that he just completely stood her up, seemed absurd._

xxxxx

“Saving history is your job. Mine is Flynn,” Wyatt shoots at Lucy in the crowded casino. His authoritative tone only making her want to stand her ground even more.

“So you’re calling the shots now? No debate?” She questions, not sure when he thought he was put in charge, but she was about to check him right into place.

“No, there’s no debate,” he argues, and she narrows her eyes.

“You do remember what club I was apart of in school, right?”

“Oh, I remember,” he argues with a jerk of his head, like he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. Their fights never lasted long, but they always ended with Wyatt admitting he was wrong, with her stubbornly unable to stay mad for too long.

The interruption of Rufus with uniforms to sneak into the show, ending the argument, for now.

“Really?” Lucy exclaims, holding up what had to be one of the skimpiest looking uniforms that existed in that casino. It looked more like lingerie than something she was meant to work in. It somehow managed to be both low cut and practically non-existent on the bottom. “You couldn’t have found me a thong?” She asks, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

Wyatt bends at the side, closely examining the uniform, as Rufus defends his choice.

“I didn’t invent Vegas.”

“Well, go back and invent me a waitress uniform,” she says, folding up the garment and handing it back to him.

The shit eating grin plastered on Wyatt’s face is enough to have her shooting him the same look she’d given Rufus.

“What?” She barks at him. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen.”

He just shrugs, the grin refusing to leave, his eyes roaming over her at the suggestion of the past.

“I didn’t say anything,” he defends himself, holding up his hands. “But glad you remember,” and she finds herself turning away from him at that, waiting for Rufus to return.

xxxxx

_Lucy waits until the girls have walked away before standing to gather her things, the tears building, leaving her vision blurry. She nearly throws her history book into her bag in her rush to get out of there._

_Of course, just as zips up her bag, she sees him._

_“Lucy,” he says, eyes bloodshot, as if he’s been up all night, exhaustion wearing on every part of him._

_She chooses to ignore him, as she’s past the point of curiosity or excuses and just wants to go home._

_“Hey, I’m sorry, I…”_

_“I don’t care,” she says, throwing her bag over her shoulder and moving to leave._

_“Wait, Lucy, come on,” he pleads, trailing after her through the library._

_Suddenly, she whirls around, nearly causing him to slam into her, his face taken aback at her change of direction. Her curls bounce in the movement, a few tendrils coming to land in her face, her hand pushing them back in frustration._

_“Do you think this is a game?” She asks, her brow furrowed together, her voice shaking, and she knows he can see the well of tears in her eyes._

_“What are you talking about? I’ve been late once, it’s not a big deal,” he tries to reason._

_“Maybe not to you, but it is to me,” she gets out, thinking of all the ways he had made her think that maybe she was more than how everyone else saw her, only to quickly sink back into herself, chastising the notion that this was more than it was._

_As she turns to leave, she can’t help but see the confused look on his face._

_“You’re wrong,” she hears him say, but she continues to walk away, finally allowing her tears to fall._

xxxxx

The door slams in Lucy’s face, Judith Campbell the least of all pleased with her and the team for essentially kidnapping her.

“She’s hiding something,” Wyatt points out, the explanation of who exactly she’s a mistress for doing nothing but seemingly agitating him further. For some reason, he seemed to have a one track mind this mission, and his reluctance to have a conversation about what to do, seemed to only lead to more debate, as she refused to go along.

Usually she was the stubborn one, he reckless, but today it’s as if he’s vying for her position.

Kicking down the door he drags Judith out of the bathroom, her escape thwarted.

“If I have to tie you up,” he threatens, and Lucy jumps in, shooting him a look of disbelief.

“He is not going to tie you up,” she tries to reason.

“Oh, the hell I won’t,” he says, leaning down to make sure Lucy sees how serious he is.

She narrows her eyes at him, unimpressed with his attitude.

_What was his problem today?_

“Excuse me?” Lucy says, punctuating the words with her hands flying in front of her to make sure he was listening.

He turns from her then, as if not wanting to see how irrationally he was acting, with no need to be stopped by her.

“This guys knows things about me. Personal things that are none of your damn business,” Judith adds, her voice rising.

“Oh what, like screwing JFK?” Wyatt throws out, no regard to the sensitivity of the situation.

“Wyatt,” Lucy hisses, completely thrown by his behavior. “Stop it!”

He turns towards her, leaning so their faces are at the same level, his eyes swirling, as her’s burn. Fire and ice.

“I’m sorry, we cannot play coy anymore.”

She steps closer to him still, his breath erratically hitting her face, his frustration coming off of him in waves.

“Go in the other room,” she sternly whispers. “Please,” she adds, a plea for them to get this right.

With a huff, he angrily makes his way to the other room.

She gives an awkward smile at Judith, Rufus slinking to the window, not wanting to be apart of whatever spat was happening between the two of them.

The tension eventually dies down in the room, the electric energy having vacated with Wyatt.

“Water?” She offers Judith, who shoots her down.

“So, you and brooding blue eyes in the next room,” she broaches. “You sleeping with him?” Lucy nearly chokes on her water, having not expected the question. She can hear a snicker from Rufus by the window.

“What? Um, no, no, we’re not…no, not sleeping together,” she gets out in likely the most awkward way that suggests that while she was not currently sleeping with hi, she wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. She felt she was constantly wavering back and forth with every exchange she had with Wyatt. There was a part of her that was still holding on to what had happened before, and just as she began to warm to the idea of him being around again, they start fighting.

“Well, he could use it. He’s wound pretty tight,” she observes, effectively sending Rufus out of the room.

Adjusting her hair, Lucy sits, now that everyone was gone and it was just the two of them.

“We uhh, we used to…”

“Sleep together?” Judith offers.

“Yeah…but it umm, it didn’t work out,” she says, staring into her water with a sad smile.

“Hmm, I can’t imagine why,” Judith says with a twitch of her eye.

“He’s not…he’s not usually like that,” she tries to defend him.

“A man who acts irrationally like that,” Judith explains, gesturing to the next room. “It’s because he thinks he’s got nothing to lose.”

xxxxx

_“You heading to lunch?” The question seemingly coming out of nowhere. Lucy looks around to find Luke, from her mom’s get together, attempting to catch up with her. Apparently, he hadn’t been deterred by her quick departure the other night._

_He keeps in stride with her as she makes her way through the hallway. She’s never much minded enclosed spaces, in fact she almost found comfort in the walls being so close, as if keeping her safe. But as she pushes through the throng of people milling about in the hallway, she can’t help but feel the tiniest bit claustrophobic._

_Gripping the straps of her backpack, she turns to look at the guy who’d just asked her a question._

_“Umm, yeah,” she awkwardly shrugs, not sure what to say. She’s_ _tired, having spent the night curled up in bed dredging up every embarrassing moment she could, emotionally torturing herself, and when she felt like she’d had enough, she’d started in specifically on the moments involving Wyatt._

_“Hey, have you started on that Hamlet assignment, because I don’t get it,” he asks, pushing through the doors to the cafeteria, getting her attention._

_At her old school, she’d always brought her lunch, bypassing the line, and ate outside with a few of her friends. The overcast sky having always offered them an excuse to pull their sweaters a bit tighter, their boots a fashion accessory that could last the whole year as the fog hovered above._

_Here, however, to venture outside to eat was just asking for you to show up to your next class completely soaked and sunburned. Which left her with limited options, usually choosing to bring her own lunch, finding a seat in the back, her company whatever new book she was currently reading, as she quietly ate her lunch._

_“Umm, yeah, I have, actually,” she responds, and he smiles at her. He seems nice enough. Cute in a goofy kind of way. She’s not sure she wants to act as a tutor to someone else, further cementing her title as exactly what Jessica had referred to her as, but he’s the first person to speak to her on his own volition, so she finds herself smiling back._

_“Do you think we could go over it?” He asks, and she nods, as she takes her seat at her usual table, and he takes off to get in line for his food. She finds she’s only slightly disappointed that her company wouldn’t consist of fictional characters._

_Pulling out the folder with the assignment, and her sack lunch, she notices that her journal is missing from it usual spot. She hadn’t taken it out at home the night before, but now, somehow, it was missing. The panic begins to rise in her chest, and she quickly takes everything out of the bag, looking in the dark, empty space with no journal in sight._

_“No, no, no,” she mutters to herself, trying to think of where she could’ve left it._

_Distracted, she doesn’t look up when someone sits down next to her, expecting it to be Luke. But she finds herself gasping with relief when she sees her journal appear in front of her, only to feel dread sink in when she sees the hand attached belongs to Wyatt._

_“Looking for this?” He asks with a sad smile._

_She quickly takes the pages into her hands, as if they’d reveal where they’d been and who had breeched their spine to read._

_“Where did you…” she trails off._

_“You left it in the library yesterday,” he explains, but she knows he can still read the panic on her face. The idea of him having read what she’d written, about her life, about him. The blush of embarrassment already heats her face._

_“I didn’t read it, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he replies, and she expects a smirk, but he’s serious._

_She narrows her eyes at him, not sure if she can trust him._

_“You really think I’m that terrible?” He asks her, and while she’s still mad at him, the sincerity staring her in the eye suggests that not only was he telling her the truth, but that the thought of someone invading her privacy like that made him angry for her._

_“No,” she concedes with a sigh. A shy quirk of her lips telling him that while he wasn’t off the hook, she did believe him. “Thanks,” she says, holding up the book before safely tucking it into her bag._

_He quietly nods, curiously glancing to his side._

_“Friend of yours?” Her brown eyes flash up to see who he’s referring to._

_“What?” She asks, confused by his question._

_Wyatt gestures to Luke, who’s giving side-long glances at them from the line against the wall._

_“Why? You jealous?” she teases, popping a grape into her mouth, and she swears she can see him shakily follow the movement of her lips with a grin that sends her right back to that car, the gentle whisper of his fingers against her torso._

_He doesn’t bite back a smile at this, reaching over and grabbing a grape from the bag, before popping it into his own mouth, his hair hanging over into his eyes, as if begging for her to push it aside to see the blue staring back at her. Her hands unconsciously move into fists to resist the urge._

_“No, I…just…his name his Luke,” he says, as if that were explanation enough, no jealousy required._

_“And…” Lucy ventures with a raise of her brow._

_“Well, if you two get married, you’ll practically have the same name…Luke…Lucy,” he says, and she snorts with laughter._

_“I’ll keep that in mind, Logan,” she jokes, emphasizing the L in his name, nearly rolling her eyes at how not jealous he is._

xxxxx

“I need a word,” Lucy says, an argument having broken out again, as soon as Wyatt had entered back into room with a reckless plan for Judith.

He’s left with no choice but to follow Lucy into the next room over, but heels dug in, and unwilling to budge from his stance.

“We can’t risk this. She’s too important to history,” Lucy pleads, her eyes wide with conviction.

He steps towards her, as if holding himself back, but she doesn’t flinch from her position.

“I cannot do my job boxed in like this, worried about knocking over a salt shaker and somehow changing history,” he says, his face contorted in something resembling anger, but she can tell there’s more than that lingering behind the mask he’s choosing to wear.

She straightens, unsure of what he’s trying to convince her of. She’s more than aware how easily history can change - the vanishing of her sister, the diamond planted on her hand, and that’s just in the last few days. The shifting of the present had been something that she’d had to accept several times over in her life, waking up one morning to everything she’d planned suddenly ripped from her, forced to adjust to a new reality.

“This is not a game,” she warns, and she knows he can tell it’s not just this history that she’s talking about. The one surrounding them also precariously in flux as they navigate their situation, floating pieces, unsure of where they fit.

“I agree,” he admits, like a ghost of his past staring back at him. “Which is why if I have a shot to take out Flynn, I’m gonna take it, whether I have to do that alone or not.”

Going head to head with him, she leans forward so he can hear her in their hushed whispers.

“I don’t take orders, Wyatt. I’m not a soldier,” she sneers. “That was your choice, not mine. You’re not taking her.”

With a shake of his head at her confession, he gathers his jacket off the bed, leaving her standing there, blatantly ignoring her argument.

xxxxx

_“What are you doing here, anyway?” She asks, popping another grape into her mouth, not quite ready to forgive him for yesterday, but unsure as to how he was sitting next to her right now. They usually had different lunches._

_“Showed up late,” he says with a shrug, and a grimace of pain briefly flashes over his face at the movement, so quick she’s almost not sure she saw it, before his lips settle into that grin she can’t stop seeing even when she closes her eyes. “Figured I might as well eat before heading to class.”_

_“You don’t even have any food,” she quips back, finding him with only a coffee cup sitting in front of him, but wanting to make it clear in her tone that she didn’t support him skipping class. Although it did comfort her to know it wasn’t just her he managed to show up late for._

_“And yet,” he says grabbing another grape. “I seem to be eating,” he finishes with a wink._

_“You seriously skipped class to eat with me?” She asks before she can catch her words, the urge to kick herself never more present, as he so easily picks up on her distinction, one he hadn’t made. She hates how easily she seems to fall into his charm, unable to stay mad at him._

_“Oh, no. I didn’t know you were in this lunch.”_

_“Oh,” she says, her cheeks lighting up in a blush. “Right, of course, you were just…”_

_“I’m kidding, Lucy,” he says with a smirk, which in turns causes her to give off a laugh, a big toothy grin playing on her lips, that catches his attention, lighting up his blue eyes to a color she’d have to identify later._

_He slides his cup in front of her, and she scrunches her nose, to which he laughs._

_“It’s tea,” he says. “Consider it a peace offering.”_

_Lucy tries to hold the shock from her face. Taking a sip from the cup, she finds it’s not just tea, but her favorite, chai. She can’t believe that he remembered. It had been an offhand comment she’d made one time during one of their sessions. And here he was, discernibly showing her that he was trying, that he wanted to know her._

_“Look, about yesterday,” he starts, and she finds herself holding her breath for what he’s about to say. “I didn’t mean to be late, and had I known, I would’ve found a way to let you know. I uhh, I wasn’t even at school, I just came in to turn in my history paper and went to the library right after. I’m sorry.”_

_She wants to stay mad at him, to shield herself from his charm, ward off any feelings she had begun to harbor for the guy in front of her. But she can’t. Her hands warm underneath the heat of the tea, tingling her fingers._

_“It’s okay. It wasn’t…I was having a bad day, and I heard something, and it just set me off, and…I took it out on you, so I’m sorry,” she says, running her warm fingers through her hair, pushing her curls to one side._

_“Hmm, and what exactly did you hear?” He asks, grabbing another grape, but not immediately putting into his mouth. He rolls it around between his fingers, trepidation in his actions for what it was that she heard, almost like he expected it to be about him._

_She wants to tell him, but a part of her knows that badmouthing Jessica probably wouldn’t go over well, and she doesn’t want to put them right back where they had been yesterday - an insecure feeling bubbles up inside of her._

_She was just a tutor._

_“It’s not important,” she dismissively answers, looking down, examining her own food._

_He opens his mouth to respond when Luke walks up holding his lunch._

xxxxx

Watching Wyatt walk off, defeated from the betrayal of Judith, shoulders slumped, hand coming to touch where he had been hit, she can’t help but feel bad for him, despite being right about the situation. She holds back her I told you so, and instead follows after him down to the lobby of the hotel.

She sees him standing against the counter, dictating a telegraph. Quietly, and carefully in her heels, she walks up behind him, wondering what it is he’s doing, exactly.

“…and know that you love her more than anything,” she overhears, stopping her dead in her tracks. The realization of what he must be doing leaves her breathless, her hand tingling as she silently holds her breath. Tears spring to her eyes, and she wiggles her fingers, her nails digging into her palms.

When he turns, he finds her standing there, having heard what he said, although he can’t be sure just how much.

He looks broken,the telegraph a last ditch effort to get back to a time he was happier. His face creases, still young, but different than the last time she was able to trace over every line when he smiled, when he cried. The worry lines more frequent, creased from events she knew nothing about.

“It worked in Back to the Future 2,” he shrugs, trying to play off the seriousness of the situation.

“Wyatt,” she calls out to him, as she tries to brush by her. Stopping, he turns to face her.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he sighs, tucking his hands into his pockets, shielding himself from her.

“No, you don’t,” she tries, because even back when they were inseparable, he’d laugh at how often she surprised him, despite knowing her so well. “I get it.”

“Do you?” His gravely voice shaking at her admittance.

“Yeah, I would do anything to get my sister back, so I get it, you want to change things to stay with Jessica,” she explains, attempting to keep the flinch away from her face at having to admit it wasn’t her that he was fighting so hard for.

He gives a soft laugh, shaking his head at her, like this wasn’t ever how he pictured things going down. But in that moment, her heart clenches, even surely, as here as they are now, she knows that the pain of what happened still left her with a fragile heart, fractured but never healed.

“Look, about before, I’m sorry. I know you’re just doing your job to keep history the way it’s meant to be,” he explains. And she nods, unsure of where he’s going with this apology. “But I don’t believe in meant to be or fate, Luce. Not in the way you do. Because if that were the case…” and he pauses, as she swallows the truth of his statement. 

“You’d still be with her,” she finishes for him, refusing to accept his belief.

“It’s all just dumb luck and random chance, Lucy,” his eyes say, searching her’s as if they hold the answer to a solution he can’t come up with.

She brings her lip between her teeth, listening to him essentially say that everything that had ever occurred between them was nothing more than happenstance, a roll of the dice. It’s no wonder they ended up where they did. Where she saw it as a second chance, he was telling her that it was a coincidence, one he didn’t care for.

She opens her mouth, searching for the right words to tell him that what they were was fate, was something that had shaped their entire lives, leaving them to meet again all these years later, but Rufus interrupts, leaving her to swallow her confession.

xxxxx

_“Wyatt, I didn’t think you were in this lunch,” Luke says, taking a seat on Lucy’s other side, so she’s sandwiched between them both._

_“I’m not,” he answers, offering no further explanation, but she can see the clench of his jaw._

_“Wyatt was just returning something of mine,” she explains, trying to break up the awkwardness, which seems to have the opposite effect judging by Luke’s affronted look and the smirk playing across Wyatt’s face._

_“Mr. Logan,” says a man Lucy recognizes to be the P\principal. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” He asks, and she’s grateful that while she can see Wyatt’s blue eyes roll, his back is faced toward the stern looking man._

_Turning around in his seat with an impish grin, he plasters on a fake smile if she ever saw one._

_“I was just heading there now,” he says, in a tone that suggests he was placating him and everyone knew it._

_“I suggest you get there,” he says. “You don’t have any strikes left,” he warns, as if suggesting that Wyatt is here on borrowed time. This has Wyatt’s hand coming to the back of his neck, and she can see the stress wearing on him, a slight redness to his cheeks, almost like he was embarrassed that she was hearing any of this._

_Lucy can see the satisfied smile on Luke’s face at Wyatt’s reprimanding, only to quickly slip when Wyatt stands._

_“I should get to class,” he says, like the thought just occurred to him. His hand leans against the table, his eyes closing as if steadying himself, before leaning down, and she swears he grits his teeth as if in pain for a second. “I’ll see you after school, Lucy,” he says, leaving no question as to whether he was going to show up. “Promise,” he whispers, his hand dancing over her own in his path to grab one more grape._

_She sees him chew, gleaming back at her as he’s escorted to class by the principal._

_“Are you hooking up with that guy?” Luke asks, and Lucy’s eyes go wide, not having expected that question._

_“What? No,” she answers quickly, hoping her curls hide the better part of her blush at the idea of her and Wyatt doing anything like that, although she can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed her mind. There’s been many a night where Wyatt stars in her dreams, only to banish the feel of his hands from her thoughts the next morning, refusing to give weight to an idea so absurd. But then she wonders, what were others picking up on that perhaps she was too blind to see._

_She chances a glance over at Luke, who seems like he doesn’t quite believe her answer. “I’m…just his tutor,” she explains, taking another sip of her tea._

xxxxx

A shiver runs through Lucy’s body, having her crossing her arms around herself. She purposely walks one foot in front of the other, slowing down the process of undressing and heading home.

She ends up stumbling onto Wyatt, apparently doing the same, sitting on a chair, still dressed in his 60s attire.

“Hey,” she says, unsure of where they stand at the moment, but unwilling or incapable of staying away.

He looks up at her, a deep sigh ready in his chest.

“Did your telegram work?” She asks, and he shakes his head.

“It was a long shot.”

Sitting down next to him, uncrossing her arms, she leans over, her hands lacing together.

“Heading home to your fiancé?” He asks, the glittering ring hitting them both in the face.

“Something like that,” she offers. “I had several missed texts from him,” she says, raising her brow as if she expected Noah to somehow disappear when she came back. Judging by the clench of Wyatt’s jaw, he was apparently hoping for the same.

Suddenly, he stands, and she finds herself peeking up at him through her dark lashes.

“You know, I umm, I never used to picture my wedding,” she confesses.

He lets out a puff of air, like her words were sharpened, ready to aim right at his heart.

“No?”

“No,” she murmurs. “I used to picture being married,” she sighs, pursing her lips. “Knowing that someone loved me enough to choose me every single day, and that I felt the same,” she finishes with a laugh. “Stupid, I know.” And although she laughs, she finds herself swallowing back tears.

“Not stupid,” Wyatt whispers. “You deserve that.”

Looking up at him, she knows he means it.

“So what you’re saying is I should probably find out Noah’s last name, huh?” She teases, and he reaches for her hand, his touch feeling a bit like coming home, more so than she had felt in years, certainly more than the last few days. Pulling her up, he attempts to release her hand, but their fingertips grip each other, until slowly sliding away.

“You know how I feel about names,” he says with knowing smile, as they walk together to find their every day clothes.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Logan.”


	4. Chapter 4

_The cool metal of the locker acts as a cold compress against Lucy’s forehead. The bustle of the afternoon shifting around her, and she pinches her eyes shut to try to block out the cacophony of noises. Her mind swirls with a laundry list of things that needed to be done, but at the forefront sat the mock debate that evening._

_When she’d joined the debate team at the start of the year, she thought it would be like her old school, a group of really passionate students who enjoyed research and well formed arguments. Instead, she’d found that most of the students had joined because they needed an extracurricular, and therefore used that time to goof off and gossip, showing up with little to no work done - which would be a good thing for her in terms of winning, except she was seen as some sort of oddity, met with either snickers of laughter or just blatant disregard._

_It came as no wonder why she preferred the days she was sitting in the library tutoring Wyatt over the ones she found herself ridiculed by a group of students who thought they were way too cool for her._

_With a deep sigh, she slowly lifts her head, twisting the combination lock around, hitting the right numbers before opening up the door to her locker._

_The inside was close to bare, having not taken the time to decorate like a lot of the other girls had. She didn’t see the point when she’d be leaving soon enough. This wasn’t her home, her space, she didn’t want to get too comfortable…or at least that’s what she told herself._

_Pushing her curls back, she exchanges the books she had in her bag with the ones she needs for her next class._

_Closing the door, she turns to find Wyatt, resting against the row of lockers beside her, his leg up, relaxed._

_“So…guess what,” he starts, peeking over at her with a sideways grin, like he has a secret he’s dying to share with her._

_“What?” She asks, choosing to move right in front of him so he has to move his gaze, the full force of his blue eyes now focused on her._

_“See for yourself,” his hand coming out to give her a paper, the edges crinkled and creases appearing throughout, like he’d folded in his hands nervously before making his way to her._

_Cautiously taking the paper, she eyes him skeptically, unsure of what he was showing her, until she looks down._

_“You got an A!” She excitedly proclaims, throwing her hands down to see his dimpled smile staring back at her, before nearly launching herself at him. Her arms wrapping around his neck, chin buried in his shoulder, while her wild curls rub against his cheek. The warmth of his body seeps into her, sending a shiver down her spine, her breath held in a purgatory of sorts, unsure of where she’d end up, but willing to give it her best to get to heaven. It’s only when she feels his hands reciprocate, wrapping around her waist, the pads of his fingers indented in her sweater, layers away from skin, that she’s shocked back into the present._

_Quickly, she pushes away, her once wide smile faltering as she takes a step back. Her eyes suddenly fascinated with her converse._

xxxxx

The last button pops into place, the reflection of a wardrobe from so many different eras stare back, as if mocking her in their existence. For so long she’d wished that she could see the history she’d spent so much of her life learning about, and now, here she was, thrown into these years with little to no guidance, forced to navigate her way through time.

She felt as out of place as these clothes were in this decade. A stitch of life just floating, suddenly unencumbered by the parameters of time and space, a black hole of nothing, sunken into her chest, and unable to grasp onto anything to keep her grounded. That person had once been Amy. The one constant in her life, and now she was gone.

“Hey,” she hears, shaking her from her reverie, the reflection of Wyatt appearing in the mirror. He’s dressed smartly, a concerned look painting his face as he stairs at her wide eyes. “You okay?”

Lucy doesn’t even turn around, not wanting to face him directly. She likes that there’s a separation, a piece of glass keeping them from getting too close.

She nods, but she knows that he’s well aware of her nerves, the ones that creep in her subconscious, rearing their ugly head, until she’s drowning in fear, unable to surface for air.

Instead, she adjusts her lipstick, hoping he’ll get the hint to leave. But instead, he approaches her, not saying a word, just offering his presence, and she feels a bit of ease sweep through her before plummeting back into the deep end.

They walk side by side as they enter the Lifeboat, breaking the silence with a question about the mission.

She’s thankful for the distraction, her knowledge on the subject spotty at best, and she can see the grimace on his face, but his voice never lets on that he’s scared. His fear never stemming from the threat of his own safety, but that of those he cared about.

He begins to buckle himself in, abandoning the task to take care of her first. And although it’s long since been a habit, she still stares in wonder at this man who always finds a way to ease her stress while burgeoning more tension between them.

The rush of the trip never lessens, leaving her woozy and off kilter. The nausea always seeming to hit Wyatt the hardest, which is why it comes as a surprise to them all when the door opens and there stands a Nazi, staring in shocked wonderment at the machine before him.

“Oh, my God,” Lucy utters, frozen in fear as the soldier moves for his gun. It’s the last thing she sees as Wyatt moves for his own, positioning his body in front of her, unwilling to sacrifice her for the mission.

Breathing heavily, she swears her heart has jumped into her throat, a close call if she’d ever seen one. His blue eyes flicker to her’s, and she nods at him, a silent promise that she was okay.

She can see the twitch of his hand, wanting to reach out and make sure for himself, even though he rationally knows no shot had been taken at them, the adrenaline still racing through them all. 

Lucy isn’t surprised to find him check back every few seconds, as they make their way through the foliage to their destination, his eyes flickering over her, before carrying on, gun at the ready in hostile territory.

Lucy would be flattered that he was taking his job of protecting her so seriously, but then again, that’s all this has ever been to him, a job. And so with her nerves building up into a wall, slowly but surely closing her off, she follows behind him, barely acknowledging his worried eyes every time they wander to her.

xxxxx

_“You seem surprised,” he teases, but she knows he’s not wrong. She is surprised, although she’s unsure why, because if there’s one thing she’s learned in her sessions with Wyatt is that he’s smart. In fact, he’s constantly shocking her with all that he does know._

_“Not surprised,” she almost whispers, still staring down at her shoes, until bringing his essay back into focus, glancing at the big A scrawled on the page. “Proud,” the admittance coming out with her own smile beaming up at him._

_“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, but she knows it’s a lie. She may have pointed him in the right direction, facilitating the action, but it was his mind, his intelligence and hard work that had earned him the grade._

_Stepping closer, he nervously straightens, sobering his smile as Lucy’s feet hit his shoes. She can tell that he’s unsure what she’s going to do next. A gulp of a swallow transient in his neck, the movement catching her eye._

_Bringing her hands up, so her mouth is hidden by the paper, she turns it around, holding it up so he could see._

_“This essay suggests otherwise,” peeking over the ink soaked pages at him, and an almost shy smirk makes its way across his lips._

_“Do you ever take credit of your accomplishments?” He teases, but there’s an underlying truth surrounding his words. The belief that she wasn’t good enough never resting even when presented with proof to the contrary._

_“Are you saying you’re my accomplishment?” She shoots back, a quirk of her lips, the double lined smiled peeking out, indicating when she found something truly amusing._

_“In the flesh,” he quickly says, before giving off an awkward cough, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said that. However, if it’s possible, she finds him even more endearing with his embarrassment._

_“Anyway, we should celebrate. Me being all brilliant, and you…well, putting up with my shit,” he tries, but there’s a shake to his voice, despite the bravado his words suggest. “How about tonight?”_

_There’s a moment, albeit briefly, where she can feel the hope ascending, the word YES lingering on her tongue, springing forward into reality, until the gripping anxiety stabs her sharply like a bed of nails digging into her chest._

_Lucy’s face falls at the realization, and with it, she can see the wind being knocked out of his own sails. Rejection is now going to be the first thing to leave her mouth, and by the look playing on his face, he knows it._

_“I’m sorry,” she says, hoping the sincerity of her words come through. The last thing she wants to do is make it seem that she’s uninterested, although she’s probably reading way too much into his offer. Wyatt simply wanted to celebrate his own accomplishment, and she was just a pity invite. One that would’ve gone out to anyone that had tutored him._

_You’re nothing special, plays in her mind._

_“Right, yeah, no, of course,” Wyatt stumbles over his words, playing it off like it wasn’t a big deal._

_“No, you don’t understand, I umm, I have a mock debate tonight,” she offers, nearly reaching out to grab his arm, hoping the nerves of tonight would transfer, proving she was telling the truth._

_“A debate?” He asks with a trickling cadence of disbelief, a raised eyebrow to accompany the question._

_“Yeah, I’m in the debate club,” she admits with a dip of her head, staring down at her shoes, before taking a deep breath, and meeting his eyes again. “And we have a practice of sorts tonight. I can’t miss it.”_

_“Hmm,” he nods, pursing his lips. “I guess I’ll see you later then,” he says with a hopeful glint in his eye._

_“Yeah,” she shrugs with another apology. “Maybe Jessica can celebrate with you,” she offers, sure that she didn’t have any pressing plans that would hinder her from taking him up on his offer._

_“She had nothing to do with this,” he says, sliding the paper out of her hands, careful not to cut her._

_He moves to leave, pushing off of his stance on the lockers, heading in the opposite direction of her next class._

_“Hey Lucy,” he says, turning around, walking backwards through the crowd in a way she could never achieve, not even a little bit. “Good luck tonight,” he wishes, as if sensing that she was nervous._

xxxxx

Carefully, one finger at a time, Lucy removes her gloves. The shake of her hand as she reaches for her whiskey visible to everyone, most of all Wyatt. She can feel her entire body tense, her eyes wide, the beat of her heart felt in her ears, the pulse a fast, syncopated rhythm that threatens to loudly drum.

“Breathe,” he whispers to her, his own eyes fearful, at not only the stiff reaction she’s seemingly having, but no doubt the logistics of how he planned to keep them safe in such a precarious situation.

He seemingly always knew what she was thinking, her emotions worn on her sleeve, and he was surely finding that that habit was one that hadn’t been broken during those years apart. Because she was scared. And he knew it.

She looks up at him, her eyes screaming, the bark brown igniting in flares, sending out a cry for help.

She brings the whiskey up to drink, and the liquid sloshes around in the glass, the tremors like earthquakes, casting waves around her.

His hand reaches out, the pads of his fingers grasping onto her hand, steadying her, as they trace a path over the hills of her knuckles, until she’s abandoned her sip, and settled the glass back on the table before them.

“Breathe, Luce,” he whispers again, only to be interrupted by the one thing that could threaten to take them both out.

She sits frozen in her chair, not sure of what Wyatt’s saying to the Nazi, his stern face unyielding in his intentions. Thankful that in their time apart he not only learned German, but several others, apparently.

It’s only when Wyatt moves to get up, that she pleads with him for an explanation. However, he offers none except for the hand on the small of her back, positioning her in front of him, further away from the man guiding them out.

xxxxx

_Lucy stares into the mirror of the bathroom, her reflection looking pale even to her own eyes. Leaning forward, she straightens her jacket, before backing up, and yanking on her skirt._

_She can hear the testing of the microphones on the stage just outside, causing a shuttering exhale. Her only solace coming in the form that she knew not many people would be in attendance, including her own mother._

_Lucy had informed her of the date a few weeks ago, but given her mom’s busy work schedule, she wasn’t likely to show up to an event that didn’t even count. She could look forward to the critique of her argument later that weekend when her mom got her hands on the notecards currently being strangled in Lucy’s grip._

_Mustering her resolve, she moves to head out, the clacking of her heels echoing through the empty restroom, keeping in time with her erratic heartbeat, threatening to out her nerves._

_Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt with a sigh, she reaches for the door._

_“Whoa,” is all she hears as she collides with the individual standing in front of the door. Her questionable balance in heels leaving her floundering on teetering ground._

_“Hey,” Wyatt laughs, steadying her shaky frame, the grip on her arms both strong and gentle, enough pressure to keep her upright, but soft enough that it wouldn’t bruise._

_“What are you doing here?” She exclaims, glancing around to see if any of his friends, mainly Jessica, have come to ridicule her as well._

_“I told you I’d see you later,” he explains, letting go of her arms, as if his presence here right now was something to have been expected._

_She nervously moves to straighten her outfit once more, attempting to iron out the wrinkles of her confidence in the form of her clothes. The result unsuccessful._

_“I didn’t think you’d show up here,” she gestures to the empty hallway outside of the auditorium._

_“Not much of a celebration with just one person,” he says with a wink._

_Lucy rolls her eyes, but she fidgets with the button on her shirt, glancing around, like someone was going to see them._

_“You okay?” He asks, his smile slipping into one of concern._

_“Mhmm,” she says, refusing to look at him._

_He raises his brow, before grabbing her hand and leading her over to a doorway, shielding them from any potentially prying eyes._

xxxxx

“That’s Ian Fleming. The Ian Fleming. The guy that wrote James Bond,” Wyatt excitedly claims, all the fear having been lifted from him shoulders the moment he found out that they weren’t in danger, but actually teaming up with Bond himself.

If Lucy wasn’t so stressed, she’d laugh at how much he was freaking out about this.

“Yeah, you’re the one who told me he was actual spy in World War II,” she explains, knowing more about Fleming than she cared to admit, thanks to Wyatt’s enthusiasms for the subject.

“You a Bond fan?” Rufus asks, sidling up to the table they were gathered around.

Lucy can’t hold back the snort of laughter at that. To say Wyatt was a fan was probably an understatement. It’s only then, sitting at the table watching him fanboy over Bond again, that she realizes another promise that hadn’t been kept. A date for a Bond movie, their expiration date a few months shy of its release. The advertisements had been quickly switched off every single time she came across them. And now here she was, face to face with the man who had spurned her vicariously through Wyatt.

“You could say that,” Lucy mutters under her breath, but they both hear.

“I love his movies,” Rufus admits.

“And the books,” Wyatt counters, having always preferred them, glancing down at her at that, knowing she remembers the tattered pages stuffed in his pocket, the ones she’d teased him about.

As Ian walks in, the plan is devised, a toast thrown out, but she can’t help but think of all the danger surrounding them. Once again, she was being tossed into a situation where she couldn’t control the outcome.

It seems as much as she tried to keep her life on track, attempting to rein in her decisions to stay in the lane of control, she’d somehow swerved into a life where she was constantly thrown into the deep end and expected to tread through the events like she wasn’t floundering for something to keep her afloat.

She gets lost in her thoughts, staring at the table in front of her, gazing off, as she contemplates all the ways in which she’d taken a chance, veered from her mother’s plan, and somehow ended up clobbered, literally and figuratively.

“It’s bad form to leave a poured glass full,” Fleming chimes, holding up her drink to her, a charming grin plastered on his face, as if they were inevitable, merely a matter of time. 

She smiles, nods at him, humoring the notion, but she never takes a sip, refusing to seal the deal. The last thing she needs is another man clambering to be in her life, only to hurt her.

“Dude, James Bond just hit on Lucy,” Rufus unsubtly whispers to Wyatt, and it’s the first real smile she can muster that day, as she glances back to see Wyatt’s eyes roll with a clenched jaw and a glare shot at the doorway in which Fleming had left.

“You do know I can hear you, right?” She claims, as both give an impish grin.

xxxxx

_“You nervous?” He guesses, and Lucy scrunches her face, not wanting to admit that she is, but unable to hide it from him._

_“Noooo,” she elongates her word with a quirk of her mouth, and a half shrug, like she was way too cool to be nervous over this._

_“Right, so you don’t need to hear how great you are, and how you’ll definitely win…because you’re incredibly smart? Got it,” he lists off, before crossing his arms and leaning against the door. His belief in her abilities enough to leave her heated cheeks now blushing with embarrassment as well as flushed with anxiety._

_“It’s not…it’s not that I don’t think I’ll win,” she shyly admits, yanking on the bottom of her jacket. “I just…,” and she peeks up at him, her brown eyes watering, the last shred of control she has threatening to trail down her cheeks like a stream of betrayal._

_“Lucy,” he says, reaching out, grabbing her hand and pulling her closer to him. If she had been any further away, she would’ve tripped into him, but instead, she mopes over, unsure of what’s coming next, but the steady beat of his heart pulses into her palm, calming her a little with just one touch._

_“My uhh, grandpa,” he begins, his hand refusing to let go of her own, and she self-consciously wishes that her palm wasn’t so sweaty, but he doesn’t seem to mind, instead absorbing her nerves as his own. “He always told me, ‘Do what’s right.’ I don’t always do that,” he laughs, using his free hand to rub at the back of his neck, as if remembering all the ways in which he had perhaps let his grandpa down in that department. “But I think the point was that, you’re going to be met with people who don’t do the right thing, who will make your life miserable,” he nearly growls out, like he’d encountered someone in particular that was guilty of such, and she finds her heart aching at the thought. “But you have to stick to your guns, despite what they say. Do what is right…for you.”_

_A small smile plays on her lips, the trust she must have gained to have Wyatt open up to her, even a little bit, to help her, not something she was taking lightly. Choosing to store this information away, and taking his words to heart._

_“I think that might be the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time,” she jokes, trying to lighten the mood._

_He swings their hands, before letting go._

_“Yeah, well, it seemed like you needed it,” he shrugs with a smirk. The loss of contact leaving her yearning for more._

_“Your grandpa…he sounds like a wise man,” she ventures, picturing an older version of Wyatt._

_“He was,” he admits with a forlorn expression, one that she can’t quite make out the meaning to._

_“You’re really gonna stay for this?” She jerks her head towards the auditorium, a grimace on her face for putting him through this kind of torture._

_“I’ve got this if I get bored,” he pulls out a book from his pocket to sho her, but a twitch of his lips suggests that he wasn’t likely to actually read it here._

_Still, she twists to see what he’s reading, and bites back a smile at Moonraker._

_“I didn’t realize you were such a nerd,” she teases, the irony of the situation given where they were only causing him to shake his head at her._

_“It doesn’t get any cooler than Bond,” he tries to defend._

_“Way too cool for me,” she admits, and a part of her knows that that statement is far too true. “But sure, right,” Lucy bites down on her lip, her curls bouncing as she gives a slow nod, humoring him._

_“Says the girl who has a giant Harry Potter and the something of fire book stuffed in her bag right now. How many times have you read that thing anyway?” He counters, leaving her with an affronted look on her face._

_“Only a few, and it’s Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” she says, correcting him, twisting the toe of her shoe on the tile below, somehow always managing to stick her foot in her mouth._

_“Right, yeah, and when was it released?” He teases._

_“A couple months ago. But okay, you see, Hermione—“_

_“Okay, save the debate for in there,” he laughs, not wanting to rile her up in an argument of Potter versus Bond._

_“This isn’t over,” she raises a finger with a playful squint of her eye, and he nods back with a smile._

_“Oh, I have no doubt, ma’am,” the raise of his eyebrows with a teasing purse of his lips suggesting he knew she wouldn’t let it go. Nudging her with his shoulder, she turns to head into the debate, the weight of the situation feeling just a little bit lighter thanks to Wyatt._

_“Hey Lucy,” he calls after her, her name echoing through the empty hall. “You’ve got this.”_

xxxxx

“Explain to me why I can’t kill Flynn?” Lucy can hear the grit in his tone, as he exasperatedly storms back into the house.

She can feel his frustration, once again, rolling off at him, a habit that seemed to be forming when it came to every mission. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with him, but they just couldn’t see eye to eye on much these days.

“We can’t risk Von Braun. We need him alive,” she explains, her hands held out at her sides, refusing to surrender the issue.

“He’s the father of their rocket program. He’s a genius,” Rufus attempts to help her, but Wyatt’s anger only seems to grow.

“Right, got it. Wouldn’t want to kill a smart Nazi,” he groans in a clipped tone, that has her gritting her own teeth, having to come up with a lie, a twist of the truth to make it sound like it’s their orders that are dictating the outcome that he’s well aware of, rather than another spat, a difference of opinion.

“The allies want him. You know that,” she glares at him.

It seems even Ian Fleming agrees with Wyatt, only further reiterating why Wyatt probably admired his books so much. And in any other circumstance, she’d have been right there with them.

“Yes, but there’s a bigger picture here,” she explains to Fleming, purposely moving her gaze back to Wyatt, speaking more to him than to the spy.

It’s only when Fleming agrees with Lucy and offers her up as the inside agent with him that she begins to balk on her own plan.

“Lucy can accompany me as my secretary.”

“How do I get in?” Wyatt asks, the light from the window he stands beside casting him half in shadow, his conflicting emotions seemingly played out right in front of her.

“You don’t. You and Rufus can provide backup from the perimeter.”

Lucy’s eyes close as he delivers the news, knowing that Wyatt isn’t going to accept this without another argument. He never had a problem with her fighting her own battles, but when she was up against Nazis, even she’d prefer a little backup. His resistance to the idea not something she objects.

He steels his jaw, his eyes storming with persistence.

“She doesn’t get in without me,” his voice taking on a gravely quality, stepping closer to the two of them across the table.

“I can barely get her in, much less you. Besides, she’s a capable operative just the same as you and I, isn’t she?”

And he’s got Wyatt there. If he disagrees, their cover is blown, and he knows it. You can see the defeat weighing in his posture. The look she gives him, not even asking for his trust of her this time, but a look signaling that she was in over her head. The water lapping at her chin, arms flailing, and completely unable to stay above gasping for breath.

But he relents, staring back at her, knowing that there’s nothing he can do except keep his distance and put his trust in a man he’d looked up to for years. The question for Lucy being: was this man really as good as Wyatt had argued him to be?

Exiting the room, leaving them to continue their argument. She can’t reiterate enough to Wyatt how important it is that he must sacrifice his shot at Flynn if it means getting Von Braun.

“I’m sorry, but not this time,” she harshly whispers, leaning forward to get her point across. “He’s too important. After the war he comes to America and jumpstarts our entire rocket program,” her head jerking with words to punctuate their importance.

Wyatt hangs his head as Rufus continues to list all the ways Von Braun is important, as if he knows what’s being said to him, but can’t relent in his quest of giving this guy a pass.

“And he’s able to do all of this because the U.S. pardons him. He never gets punished,” his eyes pleading with her, of all people, to understand his argument. “Right?” The question playing on his tongue, and she turns, knowing what he was referencing. “Yeah,” he shakes his head at her silence.

Wyatt had always tried to do what was right. Consequences always playing in his mind to his actions. The idea of someone getting away with heinous acts of violence not something that he was tolerant of, one of his few black and white opinions.

“And you’re okay with that?”

Lucy hangs her head, his words washing over her.

xxxxx

_Looking down, she can see the shake of her hands, a sure sign of the adrenaline having worn off, the nerves she had steeled for the debate now liquidating into something akin to a pool of anxiety, waiting for her to dive in._

_The actual debate itself had gone great. She’d won, no contest, and had felt a surge of pride in herself, until she’d looked out into the small crowd, expecting to find Wyatt and instead she’s met with the frowning face of her mother, and next to her, a bored looking Luke._

_She stalls, not wanting to go down and face what awaits her. She purses her lips, and with a deep sigh, squares back her shoulders, and like an actor, shifts her facial expression to something akin to confident, and hopefully pleasant, while she bites her tongue so hard the metallic taste of blood becomes present._

_Flipping her hair to the side, a pile of curls now falling to the right, her mom disapprovingly frowns at the gesture._

_“I told you not to do that,” she nearly whispers, not wanting to draw attention, but unable to keep her reprimand to herself._

_Lucy shrugs, not wanting to push the issue._

_“Where’s Amy?” She asks, expecting her sister to bound out from behind a chair, wrapping her arms around her and squeezing._

_“She’s at a friend’s,” the quickness of her response leaving no room for more questions._

_Luke comes up behind her mom, his bored expression still present._

_“These things are long, aren’t they?” He asks, and she narrows her eyes. His comment bordering on rude, but phrased like an observation._

_“You should see how long the tournaments last,” she chides, and feels her teeth clench down harder on her tongue, not sure why she essentially invited him to come to the next one._

_Luke’s eyes grow wide, and then quickly try to settle like he wasn’t dreading the event, all the while hoping he could get out of it._

_“Oh, I would never put Luke through that,” her mom laughs, as if attending this was torture enough for them both. The unsettling feeling in the pit of Lucy’s stomach suggesting that no one was more uncomfortable than her in this situation._

_“Hmm,” Lucy hums, not really paying attention as she searches the crowd to see where Wyatt had gone, only to dejectedly succumb to the fact that he must have left, his book not even enough entertainment to keep him around here._

_“You ready to go?” Her mother asks, and Lucy nods, thankful that she gets to ride home in her own car. Pulling her close, she can feel her mother’s grip digging into her arm, not meant to hurt her, but her focus so intent that she wasn’t paying attention to just how hard she was squeezing. “We’ll talk about what you can approve on when you get home,” she whispers so only Lucy can hear. The statement sealed with a kiss to her temple._

_“I’ll see you at home,” she offers, the vice grip loosened as she takes off in the opposite direction, a pit of dread lodging itself in her chest, as she’s left alone with Luke in the hallway._

xxxxx

The pin stares back at her, it’s marking a symbol of everything that was wrong in this world placed between her shaky fingers. It clatters to the dresser in front of her, before she fastens it to her jacket.

The image displayed in front of her in the mirror someone she doesn’t recognize and yet looks so familiar. She can feel herself vibrating on a level she can distinguish, her chest rattling like she was trying to escape from herself…or rather this situation.

Her lips pouts as her bottom lip joins in with a quiver, matching the tremor of her fingers. Her mind both filled with everything and nothing, like she was falling with no discernible ground to catch her fall, just an endless leap with nowhere to land.

Wyatt’s words continue to play over and over, and although she grips the wood of the dresser, she doesn’t feel she has a good grasp on anything anymore. The pointed edge of the wood digs into her palm, a mark of time centered in her hand, and she pulls her hand away, bringing it to her forehead, pinching her eyes shut, not wanting to look at herself, afraid of the image that would reflect back at her.

It’s at the point where she feels she’s bordering on a full blown panic attack, the air getting thin in the room, her labored breathing interrupted by the clicking of the door handle, altering her to someone entering.

Once again, she’s met with the image of Wyatt hanging back in her reflection. The image one that she can’t seem to shake, because she knows it won’t always be that way. She used to think he had her back, was looking out for her, trusted him above anyone else. Only to be blindsided.

“Hey,” he greets, and she leans against the dresser, readying herself for another argument.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Her tone suggesting that she wasn’t in the mood for games. Her hands busying themselves with further adjusting her outfit. Accepting that nothing was going to make this stiff, oppressing attire comfortable.

“I did. Twice,” he replies, not moving an inch.

“Oh, well…” she trails off, unsure of what to say, before turning around to see him, but still unable to meet his eyes directly.

“Good for you,” she finishes with a smile that didn’t remotely feel genuine.

He remains still, as if afraid if he moves, he’ll spook her.

“Look, I…I don’t want to fight anymore,” she tries, looking every which way but at him. But she can feel his eyes on her, the fight from before having been shed by him.

“Me neither. Let’s talk about something else,” he moves to sit on the arm of a chair near her. Her eyes crest with confusion at his shift of conversation.

“Okay, like what?” She tries, keeping busy with her hands, not wanting him to see her eyes, because if he sees the panic, the fear resting in there, it’s all over.

“Lucy,” he mutters, and she moves over to the bed, fidgeting with her back to him. “Lucy,” he tries again, and this time, she freezes.

“I’m not freaking out,” she lies, and he knows it, she can feel the hint of a smile playing on his lips without having to turn around.

“I never said you were,” he chimes in, the shake of her shorter curls at him pretending to know her better than she knows herself bordering on annoying.

“You speak German,” she turns and says. A fact that they both know is true, but one she hadn’t known until today.

“I do,” he sighs, and she shakes her head again, only half turning around to look at him, still sitting on the arm of the chair.

“I shouldn’t even be here,” she almost whispers.

“Nazi Germany? None of us should,” he responds with a crooked grin, half amused, and half horrified.

Turning all the way around, she crosses her arms, leaning against the bed.

“No. I mean…that day…the car crash. That’s when it changed. I kept trying to figure out when it happened, and I kept coming back to that moment. One minute I was driving, going over in my head what I was going to tell my mom, and the next thing I know I’m in the water. And the car started filling up with water so fast,” she remembers, her teeth beginning to worry her lip, her arms squeezing tightly around herself.

She knows he remembers, because his jaw is clenched, as his eyes water, turning the once steady shade of ocean storming into that of a murky river.

“I panicked, my seatbelt was stuck and I’m thinking, ‘This is it.”

Wyatt’s holding his breath along with her memory at this point, rigid, and unmoving in his stance.

“And then you…” she recalls with a watery smile. “You pulled me out. And I thought it was fate. You saving me,” she stares at him like the lifeline she used to believe he was. The memory so vividly playing in her mind of the fear on his face as he pulled her out from that car.

“Lucy, I’m—“ He interrupts, having been pulled from his trance.

“But it wasn’t, because now…I don’t even know what languages you speak. We’re strangers. After you, I tried to put myself in situations that I could control, where I knew the outcome. And every mission, I feel like I’m drowning all over again,” she admits in a strained voice, hollowed with tears, and stained with a feeling she has never been able to shake since they ended.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this,” she pleads, begging him to pull her out from the water once again.

He opens his mouth to respond, searching for the right words to say, instead crossing his arms, as if keeping himself from reaching out, and she’s thankful because she’s not sure if she wants him closer or to push him further away.

“You know, when my Grandpa died,” he explains, his voice shaking with the admission. “I sort became…lost. I’d act out, almost like a dare because I knew there was no one know to pick up the slack from my dad,” he nearly sneers at the title. “I was so scared that I thought I had no fear, because there was nothing to lose. And then I met you.”

Lucy’s mouth hangs open, as if struggling for air. Her eyes taking on a glassy water as he admits to something she’d known, but never really understood. Only adding to the confusion of how they ended up where they were.

He smiles at the memory, and she can’t help but wonder what it is that he exactly remembers about that time.

“You know, my grandpa’s probably around here, less than 200 miles or so, younger than me, fighting Nazis,” he says with a proud smile, the loss of his grandfather something that he rarely ever brought up. “Which is why saving Nazis and letting Lincoln die…that’s hard for me, Lucy. Because I feel like I’m letting him down.”

“He’d be proud of you,” she tries thinking of how Wyatt was a soldier as well, her voice not even sounding like her own, strangled, and raspy.

“Would he?” He asks, the betrayal of what happened playing on his face, a flicker of hurt and regret paining his features, and she wonders if it’s just the events of history that he’s remembering or does it also include the events of their history?

He waves off the question, not really wanting her to answer.

“The point is is that I found something worth fighting for. That I still had time to do what wasright, and it didn’t always turn out the way I wanted it to,” he shuffles, looking down at that, as if picturing a life where it had gone the way he wanted it to. “But it got me over the hump, suddenly every choice I made mattered, there was a purpose.” he explains.

Her eyes struggling to figure out what he meant exactly, but the implication was there.

Standing, he moves towards her, his hands reaching out to adjust her tie. His eyes look so impossibly blue as he stares down at her, her body still shaking like a leaf at the thought of what was to come and all that had happened.

“You are smart, and more than capable of fighting for what you want. You just have to figure out what it is you’re fighting for, Luce. And then you’ll be okay.”

She gives a brief smile, thankful, but unable to fully unleash a grin at the thought that eventually, she stopped being something he was fighting for. He had another purpose now, and it wasn’t her.

But the notion that she needed to find something to hold onto to anchor herself, to give purpose, was not something new. She’d once had people that she felt did that for her, only to be lost. But perhaps she hadn’t fought hard enough. A renewed strength rising in her, ignited by the embers of her past, sparked by Wyatt.

“Thank you,” she says, and she feels he knows that’s for more than today, because although she might not be meant to be here…she is because of him, for better or worse.

“Sure thing…ma’am,” he adds with a teasing glint in his eye, not one of malice but of affection.

She closes her eyes, her tongue coming out to lick her red lips. A sigh of relief that some things really did never change.

xxxxx

_“God, I didn’t think that would ever end,” Luke admits now that her mother is gone._

_“You didn’t have to come,” Lucy tries, but he waves his hand as if that were an absurd notion, casting her opinion aside._

_“I wanted to see you,” he smiles, but she can’t help but think it resembles that of a sneer, as he reaches for her hand._

_Lucy catches the movement in her peripheral, and quickly moves, pushing her stray curls back over to the side._

_“There you are,” Wyatt says, quickly striding over to her, out of breath._

_Her eyes grow wide at his appearance, a silent thank you quirked on her lips._

_“You did great,” he beams, like he’s more proud of her accomplishments than he is his own. “Don’t you think, Luke?” The name coming out with a shuffling of his feet, ending up next to Lucy._

_Luke gives a jerk of his head, clearly not having paid a lick of attention to the actual debate._

_“Hey,” Luke says, grabbing her attention, before leaning over into her space, and she finds herself unconsciously leaning away for a second, before she can discern there’s no threat, and then she moves forward to hear what he’s trying to keep from Wyatt._

_“What do you say we get outta here?” He suggests, and she has to bite her lip from saying the first thing that comes to her mind._

_“No, thanks,” she answers, a sweet smile on her face, not a chance in hell she was going anywhere with this guy._

_“Suit yourself,” he snidely answers, narrowing his eyes at Wyatt, who stands grinning beside her._

xxxxx

“I hope you’re right about this,” Fleming says with a sharp exhale, as they stand outside, waiting to hand over Von Braun. Their mission hadn’t gone smoothly, in fact there was a moment where they all thought they weren’t getting out of there alive. But they’d successfully completed the task, keeping history the same.

“We are,” she says, glancing over at Wyatt, who while still disagreed, put his trust in her, that she knew what she was doing. The belief in her, enough so that he’d risk his life, was not something she was used to. Usually, people were constantly telling her what was best. And for once, she felt like she had some control over her own fate.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” Fleming addresses them, before leaning into Lucy. “But maybe not for you,” he says with a smirk. “I might find myself stateside when all this is over,” he propositions.

“I’m sure you will,” she says with her own grin and a shake of her head at the absurdity, but flattered all the same.

“Will you be waiting?” He asks with a playful raise of his brow.

Her eyes scan over his face, as she leans impossibly close, but she somehow feels more tension coming from her side, imagining Wyatt’s face at the exchange, than she does with the man standing in front of her.

“Definitely not,” she whispers, and he chuckles softly, before turning on his heel to leave.

“Well, never say never,” he tries to play, like there still could be a chance.

“Again,” Wyatt responds with a huge smile, and Lucy can’t help but laugh, because he really was such a nerd when it came to this guy.

“Seriously?” She asks, and his face falls, like he can’t believe no one else found that as funny.

xxxxx

_“So…where’d you disappear to?” She wonders with a tilt of her head, her curls falling over into her face._

_“Bathroom,” he answers, shoving his hands into his pockets._

_“Mhmm,” she says, squinting up at him, knowing full well that that was not where he was._

_Walking with her, they head out to the parking lot in silence. As they step off the curb of the school, Lucy groans, stopping momentarily to take off one of her heels, hopping on her bare foot in an attempt to remove the other heel, nearly toppling forward if not for Wyatt’s quick hands finding their way to her waist, his fingers putting gentle pressure on her hips to keep her on her feet._

_She slowly strands up straight, the veil of curls hiding her blush._

_Once up right, he reluctantly lets go, but stays behind her, as if waiting for her to take a nose dive again._

_Finally reaching her car, she opens the door only to turn around, placing her back against the frame, leaning back, molding her body to the curvature of the car._

_“So where were you really?” That same tilt of her head, big brown eyes staring up at him, begging for the truth._

_“I didn’t want to intrude,” he offers this time._

_“Ugh,” she groans, placing her free hand over her face, heels dangling from her fingers._

_He gives a guttural laugh that has her peeking through her fingers at him._

_“So was the celebration everything you hoped it would be?” She teases, knowing full well that what he sat through could not have been his idea of a good time. Despite Luke’s rudeness, he hadn’t been wrong in his assessment._

_Sitting down in the car, she doesn’t expect him to reach for the door, holding it open, leaving her to stare up at him, the stars more present here, not obscuring city lights to hinder their shine, instead illuminating his silhouette in the night._

_“Even better,” he admits, leaning down to where he’s eye level with her._

_“Okay—“ she starts, only to freeze, when he reaches over to grab her seatbelt, once again trailing over her stomach to strap her in, before almost bouncing back to his position on his haunches in her space._

_Never ceasing to be stunned by the action, she turns on the car, the soft music beginning to play, one of the few country songs she enjoys on the radio, reiterating that lovin’ might be a mistake but it’s one worth makin’._

_“Hey, so what’s so special about Bond, anyway? Is it because he always gets the girl?” She asks, curious about why, of all the books, he’d chosen that one._

_“He doesn’t always get the girl,” Wyatt points out._

_Lucy scrunches her face at that._

_“Pretty much,” she counters, at least in everything she’s seen._

_“Well, if that’s the case, then he’s way too cool for me too.”_

_She can’t help but smile at that, one that carries with all the way home that night._

xxxxx

Lucy walks out of Mason Industries, her heart still racing at the demands she’d made with Agent Christopher. Wyatt had told her to figure out what she was fighting for, and she’d laid her ultimatum down. It was Amy.

Pushing through the door, she sees Wyatt leaning up against the wall, having clearly waited for her.

“Late night,” he says with a raise of his brow.

“Hmm,” she responds with a nod.

“Look, about before,” Wyatt starts, and she squints at him. “I never meant—“

“Wyatt,” she interrupts him, holding up her hand, exhaustion weighing heavily on her. Having been so tense all day, to then have her anxiety dissipate, left her feeling like all her energy had been drained. “Not tonight…please,” she begs, her eyes closing.

She wants to hear what he has to say. She’s been waiting to hear those words for years. But not tonight. The last thing she needs after finally anchoring herself is to be uprooted by whatever confession he might deliver to her.

“Got it,” he says, a bit defeated, but understanding filtering through his thoughts.

“Thank you,” she sighs.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your car,” he says, and she walks in stride with him, a comfortable silence hanging between them.

“You okay to drive home?” He asks, seeing the exhaustion in her slumped figure.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” and she notes the worried line across his forehead, and she can’t blame him after everything that’s happened.

“Well, goodnight,” she awkwardly says, opening the door, and climbing in.

“Hey Lucy,” he says. “German, Spanish, Arabic.”

“What?” She asks, much too late to be figuring out riddles.

“You said you didn’t know what languages I speak. German, Spanish, and Arabic.”

A drowsy smile makes its way across her face.

“You said four, that’s only three.”

“I can’t reveal all my secrets,” he says with a wink.

“Okay, Bond, calm down,” she teases, and he grimaces.

“As much as I like Bond, I think I’ll stick to being Wyatt,” he reasons, and she nods in agreement.

“Good call,” she says, grabbing the car door. “I much prefer him to Bond.”


	5. Chapter 5

_There were a lot of things that had taken some adjusting when she’d moved to Texas._

_The most obtrusive being the heat. It was the first thing she’d noticed, and one she never thought she’d adjust to. The ever present suffocating feeling that the temperature offered, that never seemed to let up. The gross sensation of being absolutely soaked after getting out of the car or walking for any period of time outside, never something pleasant. She found herself wishing for an autumn that would never come most days, except when she closes her eyes. Then she can still feel the tingle of the burn she’d gotten on her hand for the seatbelt, and then the touch of Wyatt’s hand dancing over her own._

_But then one of her classmates would interrupt her thoughts, and she find herself confused as to why everyone was so obsessed with some restaurant that, if she was hearing it correctly was called Water Burger. She still hasn’t figured out what water has to do with burgers, but everyone raves about it, and immediately launches into why it’s superior to In-N-Out every single time she mentions she’s from California, despite them (and her) never having actually eaten there._

_However, the strangest thing, by far, has been what she’s witnessed this past week._

_As she weaves through the throng of other students attempting to make her way to the library, every move has her haphazardly bumping into someone, causing the person to jingle as if a loud alarm was going off, alerting everyone that they what they were wearing was so big and grand that they couldn’t even make it through a crowd without being bumped._

_This morning when she’d walked into school, she was immediately confused as to what was going on. And as she moved from class to class, she found that apparently, she was the only one._

_Every single girl was wearing a giant white flower, with an exorbitant amount of ribbons displaying their school colors dangling to the floor, along with cowbells, plastic football charms, glitter, and she swore someone had a giant teddy bear glued to the middle of their display. Some had so many of these flowers bundled together that they were wider than the actual person, weighing them down, but all with a huge smile like it was a badge of honor._

_At first she’d thought it was a couples thing, but she quickly realized that while that may have been the case for some, as even the guys had a garter around their arm with a flower attached, that it extended far beyond a mark of a relationship. Nothing she’d read in history had introduced her to this tradition, but she was certainly going to do some research when she got home._

_Feathers lined the floor as she continued to push her way through, somehow managing to trip over someone else’s ribbon, nearly face planting in the middle of the hallway with no one to steady her, everyone continuing to mill around her, no bell attached to her to let anyone know she existed._

_As Lucy straightened herself, she sent a glare at the offending objects that acted as an obstacle course, testing her lack of coordination._

_It was official, this was likely the weirdest thing she’d ever experienced in Texas, for sure. When she’d told her friends she was moving here, they’d all joked (or at least she hoped it had been a joke) that everyone would ride a horse to school. And although she’d yet to see that (yet), she couldn’t even imagine describing this event to them now, because despite a themed week of weird outfits, this wasn’t anything she could’ve imagined._

_Finally, she makes it to the library with a deep sigh, a stray feather caught in her curls, and she annoyingly plucks it out, sending it fluttering to the ground._

_Homecoming didn’t really interest her. She wasn’t particularly into football, and much to Luke’s chagrin, refused to attend the dance, giving the excuse of prepping for her upcoming debate tournament. Her two left feet, reluctance to spend an entire night with a bunch of people she didn’t know, and Luke as her date not sounding the least bit appealing._

_Moving to the table her and Wyatt always sat at, she doesn’t know whether to smile or frown in wild disappointment when she sees a note with Wyatt’s chicken scratch handwriting spelling out her name sitting at her spot._

xxxxx

Lucy pulls on her sleeves with a sigh, until she sees Wyatt walking behind her. Her mouth moves to say something, but he avoids her eyes and continues walking to the Lifeboat.

Pursing her lips in frustration, she follows after him. She hikes her skirt to get in, banging her head on the top of the frame of the door.

“Oww,” she whimpers, falling into her seat.

“You okay?” Wyatt asks, slipping into his seat, pulling the straps of his seatbelt over his shoulders, leaving her to figure out the device with all it’s straps and buckles herself. She tries to hide the frown from appearing, knowing that he usually puts her seatbelt on, even when he’s not particularly pleased. But not today.

“So Alamo, huh? A word synonymous with gory and inescapable death. Right, Mr. Texas?” Rufus asks, a tremor to his voice at the idea of heading to an historical event where everyone dies.

“Yeah, sounds about right,” he says.

“We’re gonna die in these clothes,” Lucy mutters to herself, and Rufus shoots her a look of panic.

“No, not literally, I just…I know they were appropriate for the time period, we’re historically accurate. But the heat…in March…it’s gonna be hot.”

“Great…” Rufus sighs, turning to continue getting ready for launch. “Wyatt, you wanna say something strong and reassuring?”

“Hey, don’t look at me. I just got fired,” he says so calmly, leaning over in his seat to grab something.

Lucy’s eyes grow wide at his admission.

“What? What are you talking about?” She panics, her hands fumbling with the seatbelt.

“Yeah, this is gonna be my last mission,” he says nonchalantly, pulling several grenades into view, even laughing when Rufus jokes that he wishes he could get fired.

“Wait, wait. You’re fired? And you’re okay with this?” Her eyes narrowing at him, his disregard towards the fact that he was leaving, not doing anything but frustrating her. 

He didn’t care.

“You’ll be fine, Lucy. I know the guy they’re bringing in. You’ll like him better than me,” and though he says it with a smile, she sits there stunned, completely unable to comprehend what is happening. 

Again.

She sets her jaw, unable to respond to him. She had let herself begin to trust him despite everything in her screaming that it was a bad idea, and he was leaving her. Again. Just like her dad, just like her sister. 

Lucy settles into her seat, her heart feeling the betrayal tear at the crack she’d tried to glue back together, threatening to burst open, a larger wound that originally shattered,

One way or another, everyone she cared about left her.

xxxxx

_Her fingers trace over the indention of the ink into the paper, permanently etching her name. Holding her breath, she opens the note to find that it was an apology, this time not just standing her up, but as promised, letting her know he wasn’t going to be there._

_She can’t hide the frown that finds its way to her lips at the thought of not getting to spend some time with him before the weekend._

_The session after her mock debate had been…awkwardly normal. Every single time she had what she thought was a breakthrough with him, she’d expect something to be different the next time they saw each other, but with him, it sometimes seemed like one step forward, two steps back._

_Each day seemed to reset time, erasing everything that had happened. Every session a rebuilding of sorts, an attempt to get to where they’d finished before being catapulted back to the start by the next day._

_Folding up the note with a shake of her head, she shoves it in her bag, and turns to leave, the jingling of bells still echoing through the halls like the hollowing of her chest, reminding her of all that she didn’t understand, and how no matter how she tried, she was never going to fit in._

xxxxx

“Oh, there you are,” a relieved sigh escapes from Lucy, wiping the sweat from her forehead, as she comes up on Wyatt in the chapel. He doesn’t immediately turn around, as if caught in a dream of some sort. “Wyatt?” She questions, and he turns around like he’s seen a ghost. Watery eyes, and a shocked expression, paling his skin to stare back at her. “Are you okay?”

He looks at her, as if drowning, unable to reach out and ask for her help, and a piece of him missing, gone with his memories, unable to surface with the rest of him.

“Yeah,” he answers, but she knows it’s a lie. He’s not okay.

“Look, about Bowie,” she starts, and he sighs. “I just…you know, I think you’re coming on a little strong,” she shrugs. “I don’t want to freak anyone out, lead them to believe we know more than we’re saying.”

“Lucy,” he says in a whisper, and then coughs, gaining the strength of his voice. “It’s weird being back here, right? In Texas?”

She doesn’t know whether to smile at the memories or wince at a life that had felt so far away until they were dredged back up, presented with a situation that didn’t even have them where they were before, but somewhere much further south, both figuratively and literally.

“I haven’t been back since…” she trails off, knowing that he knows exactly the last time she was Texas.

“Right, because…why would you?” He straightens, almost like he’d sobered from the moment, squaring his shoulders, before telling her to keep looking for Flynn. The request coming out as an order, one in which she didn’t appreciate, and found herself glaring at him before taking off.

xxxxx

_Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, Lucy fumbles with the car radio, searching for the right song to really sum up her emotional turmoil. Scanning through static and country station after country station, she finally hits the button roughly and settles into silence. A sigh signaling that somehow she couldn’t even get a song to work with her._

_It’s in the dramatic tilt of her head in haste that she spots him. He’s walking down the road, likely having come from dropping off her note, before hightailing it out of there._

_She pulls over, her tires kicking up dust, the grass struggling for water, and leaving nothing but dry land beneath it._

_With an intake of breath and a raise of her eyes to the sky, she pushes her door open, leaning against the frame._

_“Hey Wyatt,” she calls, and he freezes, and she swears she can see his shoulders slump forward, as if her voice was close to the last thing he had wanted to hear at that moment._

_When he doesn’t turn to acknowledge her, she takes her keys, turning off the car, and slamming the door, before making her way towards his hunched figure._

_“You think just because you got an A on a paper you can start skipping sessions,” she teases, her tone signaling that she didn’t really mean to give him a hard time. She just didn’t know any other way to approach him, and awkwardness won out._

_“Go home, Lucy,” he groans, his hand coming to grip the back of his neck in frustration._

_She’s taken aback by his comment, stopping in her tracks. This wasn’t just two steps back, this was a marathon sprint to the finish, like he was attempting to sever all ties._

xxxxx

“No letter, no Texas,” Rufus points out, and she can’t help but think about where her life would be, how it would be different if there were no Texas. If she hadn’t moved there, if she hadn’t met Wyatt. She closes her eyes at the thought, not sure why fate had brought them back together only to tear them apart again, but having a hell of a time trying to figure it out.

And he didn’t seem to care one bit.

“Wyatt, are you even listening?” She accuses at the man who’s just staring off into space. She can tell that he’s fuming in that quiet, calm way that he does. And it’s frustrating her beyond measure. If he wasn’t upset about leaving, the least he could do is stay with them for the time being and help.

“All this, and Flynn manages to trap us in the Alamo. I gotta hand it to him,” he says in a self-deprecating way, she can feel him spiraling. She attempts to keep him on course.

“I know you want Flynn, but we need you right now,” she tries to reason with him, but he’s too far gone at this point, surly, and annoyed at everything. When he got in those moods, it was hard to break him out of it.

Lucy moves up to him, she can feel the steam of the day coming off of him in waves, his shoulders tense, and she reaches out to grab his forearm.

“Wyatt, please,” she pleads, and she swears he nearly rolls his eyes at her, pulling his head back, and glancing at her, but not really wanting to see what’s in front of him, before turning back.

“Don’t worry, Lucy. I’ll do my job,” he says, breaking free of her grasp and turning to approach Rufus. He gives him instructions. Find a way out. The skeptical engineer wracking his brain with a solution to the problem being presented.

“And you,” he turns on her, and she bites down on her lip. “You need to get that letter out or else there is no Texas,” his entire way of life as well as so many others, including her, dependent on that task.

“Well, it’s like I said, Travis didn’t finish it,” she explains with a bit of a bite to her words.

“Then finish it for him,” he says, as if the solution were that simple, and then storms off to confront Bowie. His panic rising with every word until he’s practically yelling for all of the fort to hear.

“Wyatt,” she warns, not sure why this mission was the one that seemed to set him off, assuming it was Texas, but the earnest way in which he was going about it, there seemed to be another reason.

xxxxx

_“Whoa, what’s wrong?” She asks, questioning whether she should continue up to him or hightail it out of there like he’d told her to. Ultimately, she halts in her spot and hovers somewhere in the middle._

_She can hear his heavy sigh, and almost feel the clench of his jaw before he speaks. Not sure if he was just that obvious or she had become that attuned to his mannerisms._

_“Nothing, Lucy,” he says, this time there’s no demand, just a defeated breathy platitude that she doesn’t buy._

_It’s in that moment that she makes her choice, choosing to move towards him. She continues to kick up dust in her converse, the black turning to a dull brown, devoid of life, as she reaches Wyatt._

_Reaching out, she grabs his arm, and he flinches, before pulling his arm out from her grasp._

_“Please,” he pleads, but she’s unsure of what he’s begging for._

_Her hand flops down to her jeans, before she anxiously pushes her hair out of her face._

_“Wyatt, just talk to me,” she makes her own plea, and she swears he holds his breath, like her strangled voice was asking him something he knew he couldn’t deny her._

_Slowly, he turns around, reluctant in his posture, and when he’s finally facing her, she can see why._

_With a sharp intake of her breath, her hands fly to her mouth, and he winces at the reaction._

_“Oh my God, Wyatt, what happened?” She asks through her hands, before stepping even closer, raising her hand, ever so slowly, like a wounded animal, bringing her thumb to trace the bruise circling his eye._

_It was a deep red in the corner, splintering off into a spectacular purple as her thumb moved under his eye to his cheekbone._

_“It’s nothing,” he tries, his lips whispering against her wrist in their movement._

_Standing on her tip toes to get a better look, has him wincing as she places a little more pressure on his face._

_Her face scrunches in apology before removing her hand, and lowering herself back down to the ground._

_“It’s not nothing,” she murmurs, her brown eyes trailing over the rest of him to make sure that was the only injury he had. “What happened?”_

_He averts her gaze, unwilling to reveal what was going on, and she’s left with only her assumptions that he must have gotten into a fight at school._

_“You want to get out of here?” He avoids her question with one of his own, walking past her towards her car._

_Lucy is left to stare after him, uneven at the speed at which the conversation had changed._

_“Umm, yeah, sure,” she says, a puzzled look knitting her brow together, but has her following him, regardless._

_He holds the door open to her, and she gets in, alone for only a few seconds, a quick deep breath at how the day was unfolding. The moment cut quick as he gets in with a grimace of pain, alerting her to that the fact that his clothes must have been hiding some other bruises._

_“Where are we going?” She asks, turning on the car, glancing over at him the broken boy next to her._

xxxxx

As she sits at the desk, letter after letter torn up, the struggle to accurately capture the sentiment that was needed to inspire a rebellion continuing to be illusive to her. She uses one piece of paper to fan herself from the humidity that never seemed to leave.

Every time she went to write, she fell short, her mother’s words playing in her head from earlier. She was right, she was so off course, throwing everything that she had worked for away. They weren’t new words, she can remember hearing the exact same thing in high school, and then in college, a warning tone accompanied.

She couldn’t feel more like her mother was right as she not only couldn’t remember the exact words to this letter, but couldn’t begin to conjure up anything that was worthy.

She’d somehow ended up in the exact same position she had been in so many years ago. In Texas, feeling like the rug had just been pulled out from under her, desperately wanting to cling to a person that was leaving, and her mother’s disapproving glare hovering over her.

It’s only when Wyatt and Rufus bust in, the latter with a plan, albeit a far fetched on that involves an aqueduct that gives a bit of hope to the situation. 

“How’s the letter coming?” Wyatt asks.

“I’m having the world’s worst case of writer’s block. I know there’s something about ‘patriotism’ and ‘liberty’ and ‘American character.’ I think.” Her hand coming to her head, chastising herself for not being able to get this right.

“You don’t know?” Rufus asks, as if he’s also disappointed, thinking she knew everything, only to be let down. “You’re the historian.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t have every letter memorized that’s ever been written in the history time, and this letter, if I don’t get every single word exactly right—“ She tries to explain, only to be cut off by Wyatt.

“It’s just a letter,” he says, his eyes narrowed, dismissing her anxiety.

“It’s not just a letter,” she sneers, not understanding why he’s not grasping the importance of getting every word correct. “It’s the letter that created _Texas_. No pressure or anything,” she emphasizes the name, as if reminding him that if she doesn’t get this right, they would never have met. But then again, maybe that’s what he wishes. That he’d never met her. He nearly said as much.

“For God’s sake, just write something. Anything. It doesn’t have to exact,” he argues, his eyes squinted at her like she was a nuisance.

“Oh yeah, so I can just say whatever I want like you did with Bowie?” She throws in his face, knowing how disastrously that had turned out.

“Yes. You say what’s in here,” he taps at his heart, punctuating his point by moving closer to her, swiftly and with purpose. “Quit pretending.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” she throws back at him, a glimpse of the past coming back, circling them in a ring of fire that won’t allow either one of them to forget all the things he didn’t say, and all the things that he did.

“All this dress up and drama—“

“That’s my job!” She raises her voice. “You used to think that was something important…” she trails off, hurt pinching her face as he continues to berate what she’d dedicate her life to. The life she’d managed to forge from the broken pieces he’d left her with.

“That’s not _my_ job!” He yells back. “And I can’t do _my_ job with all of this crap, with my hands tied behind my back.” His outburst causing both Lucy and Rufus to glance at each other, unsure of what was spurring this dialogue, but both uncomfortable at watching it build to this point.

“Agent Christopher was right. I’m not right the guy,” he says, leaning against the table, his energy drained, and, eyes watering, suggesting her cared more than he was leading on.

Lucy feels like he’s held her head underwater, leaving her gasping for breath, the words hitting her in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, turning to storm out.

“Wyatt—“ she moves to follow him, only to be met with an explosion.

xxxxx

_Pulling onto a worn path of dirt, having been driven on many times, wearing tire tracks into the earth. It’s a curved line in a field with fading green, the grass attempting to hold onto the pigment even when starved of water._

_Lucy cuts the ignition, and Wyatt’s out of the car before she can say a word, the drive having been one met with silence except for the spare directions he’d given her. He’d taken them out of town, well past the point where she’d managed to venture (which wasn’t very far) on her own in the few months she’d lived there._

_The sun was beginning to lower, despite the lack of cooler weather, the sunsets still came earlier and earlier each day. They still had a couple hours, but the sky was preparing it’s descent into darkness, painting the sky in the same colors that lined Wyatt’s eye. A violent shade of red threatening for everything to burst._

_Her question rests on the tip of her tongue, as she takes in the scenery. There were trees to their left, not unlike the ones she’d become accustomed to seeing here. They didn’t have large, oaky leaves, instead, small, tough leaves that refused to change color, clinging to the branches, content in keeping its form. They were weathered to withstand the heat beating down on them, shrubs and cacti littering around the bottom, next to tall grass._

_“My grandpa used to take me here,” he mutters, kicking at the dirt beneath the grass._

_She nods at the mention of his family again._

_“In the spring, this entire field is full of bluebonnets,” he explains, and she tries to conjure up the image of hundreds of thousands, of indigo flowers covering the expanse of the ground underneath them._

_“That must be beautiful,” and he nods, a small grin appearing on his face, turning to look over at her._

_“Come on,” he says, grabbing her hand, and leading her to the right, off the worn dirt path into the grass. “Oh, watch out for snakes.”_

_She stops, yanking on his arm, awkwardly picking up her feet as if they were already circling, her curls flying as her head moves back and forth._

_“Snakes?” She asks with whimper in her voice. His brow raises at her reaction. “Right, yeah, sure, snakes.”_

_“You’ll be fine,” he says with a laugh. “I’m not gonna let them bite you,” he assures, lightly tugging on her hand, and she quickly follows behind him, nearly finding herself glued to his side._

xxxxx

She sits tearing cloth, Wyatt kneels to her right, partially concealed by a fence, detailing his plan to Bowie.

Her fingers still from their task, twisting the cloth this way and that, as Wyatt moves his story to a setting she hadn’t ever heard about. She’d known that he had done several tours, many missions - she was no stranger to the military, but the details. There had been no way of keeping up, of finding out. She’d always listen, search every once in a while, hoping that he was still alive. Still okay. Always waiting in a sense, forced to sever ties, physically, but emotionally, her heart refused to let go.

As she listens to him detail the specifics of a mission gone terribly wrong, leaving him as the only survivor, she can’t imagine what that must be like. To have to be the one to leave. She was always the one left. Obviously, the amount of guilt that he’d managed to shoulder was nothing new to her. He took on the weight of the world, and more often than not, the weight of her world, but he’d also done so willingly. But every once a while, she saw a crack. He wasn’t stoic, as much as he tried to be. It was something she’d always liked about him.

It felt both like a lifetime and just yesterday that she’d seen the broken boy crumble in front of her, doing her best to help him build from the ruins. She didn’t even know the truth back then - all that he had endured. And it seemed she was still a bit in the dark. A portion of his history unavailable to her.

Her heart broke for him then and it breaks for him now.

Long ago, they’d become inextricably connected, weaved together in the curls of her hair that now sat straight, letting him slip right through. But she wasn’t about to let him let go just yet. Not again.

When he turns around, his eyes cloudy from the tears of emotion that had built up, she knows that she heard him. That part of him he thought he was sharing with a stranger had been exposed to someone knew him more than most.

He doesn’t acknowledge what he said, steeling his face from embarrassment, and moving on. Like he always did.

The hero she always knew he was. Pushing away his own needs for the betterment of others. Taking the brunt of the pain and burying it inside himself to protect others. She’d read so many history books, detailing men doing heroic things, forever inked for their accomplishments, but she found that more often that not, the ones that stood out to her where the every day heroes, the recklessly brave, like the man standing in front of her.

The letter practically writing itself.

xxxxx

_They eventually make it underneath a tree, the grass much lower, and devoid of the sharp vegetation on the other side, leaving them free to spread out in the sparse shade._

_Wyatt lets go of her hand, plopping down with a wince, his knees pulled up, staring out in the great wide nothing ahead of them._

_Looking out, she sees the same view as him. The sun casting its rays on rocks and trees, and endless expanse of flat land as far as they can see._

_Quietly sitting beside him, she picks a blade of grass, hard and browning at the tip, twirling between her hands, busying them from her racing mind._

_“So…” she starts, hoping that it’ll spur him into an explanation for why they’re here. Despite the heat, they sit closely, her arm rubbing against his own as she hunches, her elbows digging into her thighs._

_“You going to the dance tomorrow?” He asks, seemingly out of nowhere._

_“Uhh, no,” she says with a laugh and a shake of her head. “But I am curious if they wear those giant flowers to the dance, as well?”_

_Wyatt looks over at her at that, before breaking into a wide smile, a rumbling of laughter in his chest, and she knows it must be hurting him, the flicker of pain always lingering behind his eyes, but in that one moment, his eyes crinkle with laughter._

_“The mums? No, they don’t,” he explains through his laughter._

_She nods, twirling the grass between her fingers. “What about you?” She asks, and can’t help but think that if he had had asked her, she might have actually gone._

_“I’m not allowed,” he says with a raise of his brow, a look of both relief and disappointment flashing across his features._

_“Like the football games,” she remembers him saying he wasn’t allowed around those either._

_“Yeah,” he sighs, offering nothing else._

_“Does that have anything to do with your black eye?” She gestures with the blade of grass, and his hand comes to touch his face, as if remembering that it was swollen and bruised._

_“I guess it’s all related,” his vague answers doing nothing to satisfy her curiosity, but more importantly, not quelling the worry she found she had for him, even if he was getting into fights with others._

_She nods, not wanting to push him._

_“Thank you,” she whispers, not looking at him, instead lowering herself to lay in the short grass, her hands coming to cross at her stomach, leaving him to stare down at her._

_“For what?” He asks, dumbfounded, not sure what he could’ve done to deserve that._

_“The note, you kept your promise,” she smiles, turning so she’s resting on her side, head supported with a bent elbow, mirroring his bewilderment at the boy sitting in front of her._

_He moves to emulate her position, much more slowly than her, and with a grimace, until their bodies lay parallel to each other, the blue of his eyes even more vibrant in the shadows of the tree._

xxxxx

Frantically, Lucy weaves through the soldieries attacking, bullets flying every which way, sending her tripping into the ground as she spots Wyatt.

The tendrils of her hair sit messy, hanging in her face, threatening to stick to her cheeks with the sweat, as blind panic sits etched on her face.

“Wyatt!” She yells, relief pouring out in his name, glad that she’d found him in this chaos.

Her hand grips onto his thigh, steadying herself from the fall, grabbing his attention.

“Lucy?” He asks, concern written all over him at the idea of her being in the middle of all of this. He grabs onto her hands, but keeps glancing back, at what she’s unsure.

“Rufus did it! There’s a way out. Come on, let’s go,” she says with a tremor to her voice, holding onto him, as gunfire flies all around them, their only shelter a piece of wood that wouldn’t dare stop a bullet.

Without thinking, she moves to leave, but it quickly pulled back by Wyatt right as a bullet whizzes by her. The shot surely would’ve pierced right through had it not been for him.

A wheeze of a scream escapes her before she’s tucked underneath him, his arm coming to shield her from anything, his body willing to take a hit before he let anything happen to her.

Slowly getting up, she stares at him, as he continues to avoid her eyes, looking past her the entire time.

“We have to go. Now.” She says with an urgency she knows is closing in on them, their window to make it out of her unscathed limited. Close calls looming around every corner.

“Wyatt?” She calls, and it’s as if he can’t hear her, his focus so fraught with everything going on around them, that he’s unable to see her. “Wyatt,” she calls again, trying to gain his attention.

When he finally settles on her, he delivers a blow.

“I’m not going,” he says, as if there were no other option.

She can feel the a rise of fresh, new panic surge up her throat, shaking her frame, her eyes wide,.

“What? No. “What do you mean you’re not going?” She repeats, as if she had misheard him. She knows he knows his Texas history, he knows the cost of staying.

He’s already moved his focus from her when he answers, loading his gun. Prepared to this time die for everyone else.

“You don’t need me,” he argues. “They’re getting rid of me, right?” His words saying that as if being transferred and death were synonymous.

“Wyatt, you can’t stay here. Everybody dies,” she pleads, refusing to grasp what he was telling her. That he was really willing to die here. The notion so absurd she can’t fathom the sacrifice.

“I know. But I can’t…I can’t leave good men again,” he rationalizes, leaving her shell shocked as he turns to make a shot.

“No, no,” she argues, almost to herself, she feels, because he’s so bullheaded that he’s not really listening to her. Her eyes begin to water, the reality that he wouldn’t just be leaving her this time, but leaving her to actually die. The thought had circled in her mind for so many years. The promise he’d made going down in smoke just months later had rocked her so violently, that she’d begged, pleaded with him then, but he’d been more determined than ever. He’d been lucky thus far, but not without his emotional scars. But there was no coming back from this.

“What difference does it make?” The blue of his eyes a murky storm, unable to see through to the other side, the thunder of the bullets, and the lightning of the moment, refusing to let him see a future outside of the wall of rain. He looks at her like she’s already gone, just something else he didn’t deserve. “Everyone I care about is gone.”

“No, no,” she murmurs to herself, as he continues to argue, old wounds tearing open as he admits that everyone he cared about once again didn’t include her. The man kneeling before her resembling the boy she’d fallen in love with.

“Let me do one good thing by you, Luce. Let me buy you the time to get out,” he reasons, as if his job of keeping her safe was worth losing his life. She argues with herself that he’d been doing that since they were kids, and then sharply reminds her that this is just his job.

“What about us? Huh?” she grabs onto him.

“The next guy’s gonna handle it, Lucy.”

“You can’t just leave me again,” she says, unwilling and unable to have their story here. Not in Texas. That just seemed like a cruel twist of fate. The words coming out with such conviction in her voice, she grabs onto his face, cradling both sides, keeping him from looking anywhere else. It was what she should’ve done before. Made him listen, made him see that there was no one else she wanted.

“You don’t need me,” a defeated look passing over him, slumping in her grasp, the words sounding so familiar, spoken into existence more than once.

“I do. You’re the one I trust. You’re the I want. I need you,” she enunciates each word so he hears her clearly. Her hands jerking his head to punctuate what she’s saying.

He glances behind her, as if still searching for an answer, unsure if he could really be that person for her.

“Wyatt,” Her breathy plea the last thing she says before he reaches for her hand, his thumb tracing the veins in her wrist, as if assuring himself that there was life to her statement.

“Okay, get ready to run,” he agrees, giving into her demands, his hand coming to the small of her back, as he sees them both to safety.

xxxxx

_“Lucy,” her name coming out like a frustrated sigh. “I’m not…this isn’t a good idea.”_

_“What isn’t a good idea?” She throws back at him, her eyelashes fluttering in the stagnant air, the heat gathering around them._

_“This, us,” he gestures between the two of them with his free hand, before settling it in the grass between them. “I’m not good for you, I’m not the right guy,” he says with that same defeated tone he’d used before, like all his self-worth had been kicked out of him._

_“Hey,” Lucy murmurs, reaching out to cradle his face, lifting his chin to where he was looking at her, and she swears what she saw nearly broke her heart. His eyes red stained and watering, his brow creased into distress, and although his mouth as saying one thing, his eyes were pleading another. “Says who, huh?”_

_Wyatt goes to answer, and she cuts him off._

_“I think that should be up to me, no? I can make my own choices,” she reasons, unsure of why he was convinced that he was no good for her, but she couldn’t help but feel that if anything she was undeserving._

_“Okay,” he agrees, trusting her to do what was right for herself. “And what is it that you want?”_

_“You,” she says, awkwardly leaning in, her hand still on his cheek, her thumb slowly caressing the bruise painting his face, as he looks on at her like she was a lifeline, her grip on him anchoring her for the first time in so long, one she wasn’t ready to let go of anytime soon._

_Searching his blue eyes, they hover a hair’s breadth away from each other, her eyes fluttering between his lips and the blue sea that could very well drown her in that moment, but instead promises to keep her afloat._

_She doesn’t hesitate in leaning the rest of the way in, her lips meeting his, no regret forged, instead the gentle pressure of a forked path to a future she hadn’t yet written. She hadn’t caught him off guard, but he seems to be waiting for her lead, her lack of experience rendering her still, until he offers guidance, and she’s soon moaning, wiggling her body closer into his his. The weeks building up to this moment fraught with a tension that splintered between them, fueling the heat, and leaving her with a thirst for more._

_It’s only when she’s gasping for air, that they separate, only just so, his nose rubbing against her own smaller one, his hands still tangled in her curls. She smiles, twitching her nose in the process, tickling him into a smile as well. A giggle of sorts emitting from her mouth, as he leans back in, a barely there, whisper of a kiss on her red, swollen lips._

_Matching crooked grins mirroring back at each other under the blistering sun, casting its strokes of colors into the sky, as Lucy remained entangled in Wyatt’s grasp, for once feeling as if her choice mattered._

_Maybe the Texas heat wasn’t such a bad thing after all._

xxxxx

The worn edges of the gold on her locket fit in her fingers, twirling the jewelry to and from as she waits for Wyatt to get dressed.

He hangs his head, a small grin on his lips when he sees her, and she drops the locket so it bounces against her shirt.

“You’re still here,” he acquiesces, almost embarrassed of himself from earlier.

“Yep, not gone yet,” she laughs, before her face falls int “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she peeks up at him through her dark lashes to find his grin growing.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Luce,” he says, bumping her shoulder, trying to playfully play off the severity of the situation.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” she tries, as they walk towards the lockers. “Rufus would’ve really missed you.”

He gives her a full smile at calling him out.

“Thank you. For what you did…not just for letting me keep my job but…” he trails off, not wanting to acknowledge the state he had been in, refusing to admit that maybe he needed her as much as she needed him. “I know that you just said those things, because—

“Because I meant them. I’ve always meant them, Wyatt,” she admits, her heart still wounded from the past, battered from the present. The words she didn’t say on the tip of her tongue, it was him that didn’t need her. “But I get it.”

He shakes his head, and she’s unsure if it’s because he doesn’t believe her, never having been able to accept that her choice was him or that he knew it was true but didn’t feel the same.

“You’ve never needed me, Lucy. You did all this,” he gestures to where they are, signifying all that she’s accomplished. “All on your own. Like I knew you would,” a sad smile coming to his face.

Lucy tilts her head, convinced she could’ve done the same with him, but he breaks her train of thought.

“So was Texas everything you remembered it to be?” He teases, attempting to lighten the mood.

She ponders over the question, her hands reaching for her locket again, inside the locket a face of man that she’d clung to so stubbornly, refusing to let him make a decision that could end them.

“Just as hot as I remember.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Lucy had woken up that morning with a smile. Her curls askew, old t-shirt hanging off her shoulder. Lazily, she yawned, stretching her body out across the bed, only to turn and find Amy staring at her from her desk._

_“Oh, my God— Amy, what are you doing?” She groans, picking up her pillow and placing it over her face._

_“So…who is he?” She asks, and Lucy stills in her bed, pushing on the pillow to where she can feel the pressure against her face, before slowly peeking at her sister with a narrowing gaze._

_“Who?” She asks, but her sister just crosses her arms, the young girl not even slightly deterred by Lucy’s play at innocence._

_“You’ve been smiling all weekend,” she points out, and Lucy feels she should be slightly offended that something as simple as a smile was cause for suspicion, suggesting it was a feature usually missing._

_Sitting up, pushing her curls out of her face, she pulls her feet over to the side of the bed, her night shorts have ridden up during sleep to where her bare legs look longer than usual hanging over._

_Placing her feet on the hardwood, she tosses the pillow at Amy’s face, as she passes to her closet._

_“I smile all the time, silly girl,” Lucy teases, before she feels the pillow hit her in the back, a mischievous smile appearing on Amy’s lips when she whips around at her in a playful manner._

_“Not like this,” Amy observes, and Lucy looks in the mirror situated on her wall, wondering if she really did look that different since that day in the field with Wyatt._

_Her cheeks were red, but that was likely from the position she had been sleeping on her sheets, but then again, she couldn’t deny the deeper blush Amy had brought to her cheeks at the mention of someone leaving her with a smile._

_And there it was, the curl of her lips, the closing of her eyes, the nail of her thumb finding its way to her mouth when she thought about the way Wyatt’s hands had weaved into her curls, inextricably tangling their lifelines together._

_It’s about the time her finger begins to trace the shape of her lips, a gentle, insistent pressure, like Wyatt’s lips that she knows she turns beet red, alerting Amy to the fact that she was absolutely right in her assumption._

_“Is it that obvious?” One eye scrunching, as her lip pulls up, a worried expression painted across her face now._

_“I won’t tell Mom,” Amy assures her, and she can feel the sigh of relief being released from her. It wasn’t as if she were trying to keep Wyatt a secret, not even a little bit, but she knew how her mom would react. And for some reason, unless his name was Luke, she wasn’t going to be pleased that Lucy was spending any time with someone that wasn’t going to somehow fit into the plan her mother had made, unwilling to allow anyone to deter her._

_“Thank you,” Lucy says, walking over and placing a soft kiss on her sister’s head._

_“So…” Amy wonders, as if waiting for more from Lucy, as she moves back to dig out an outfit from her closet. Suddenly, much more concerned about what she was going to wear than she had been before. But she shakes her head at the idea that she needed to change anything, because he, and more importantly she, liked how she dressed, yanking down a plain white t-shirt, and a cardigan with a pair of jeans._

_“So…what?” Lucy asks, peeking over her shoulder at there sister eagerly waiting for something, anything, from her._

_“Who is he?” Practically bouncing in Lucy’s desk chair._

_“His name is Wyatt,” she offers, hoping that’s the end of it, while simultaneously wanting to tell someone about him._

_Amy raises her brow, demanding more in the sweet way that she got away with nearly everything._

_“And… he’s sweet, and smart…he has blue eyes and I like him—“_

_“So when are you getting married?” Amy interrupts, and Lucy stubs her toe on the door of her closet at the misstep, not having expected her sister to bring that up._

_“Oww,” Lucy groans, grabbing for her foot, the giggle of her sister beating in the pulse of her toe, having clearly been teasing._

_“Not funny,” she chastises._

_“It’s gonna happen,” Amy continues to joke, unrelenting._

_But the truth was, it seemed Lucy’s future became murkier every time she thought about it now._

_Before, she knew exactly where she was going, what she was going to do. A long time plan that had been set for her by her mother for a long time coming. She had accepted her fate, even began to acknowledge that it could be fun, maybe. She did enjoy learning. But with each passing day here, the heat seemed to beat down on her, the pressure building, and the future she had been resigned to had suddenly opened up a new door, one in which she’d hesitantly, but surely, jumped through and right onto the unbeaten path that had led her to Wyatt._

_She wasn’t sure where they were going or what exactly they were even doing. But she knew that for right now, she kind of liked not knowing._

xxxxx

Lucy worries her fingernail between her teeth, as she nervously glances around the neighborhood. She’d found herself parked outside of a big white house, the kind most people dream about living in, dark shutters, flower beds framing the windows. She closes her eyes and tries to picture what her life would’ve been like if she had grown up here. The big trees littering the yard, sun shining through the leaves, casting a hazy glow to the house that looked something out a fantasy. And it was. Her whole life had been one big lie, false fantasies offered to her to keep from getting to the truth.

Opening the piece of paper she had resting in her free hand, she angles it towards her to see the handwriting of her mother, a black flowery display of the name of a man she had never met. Benjamin Cahill.

“You know, when you said you wanted to get breakfast together, I didn’t think it would involve a little light stalking,” Wyatt teases beside her, sipping on his coffee.

Lucy whips her around to him, narrowing her eyes.

“We’re not…stalking…” she justifies, and he raises his brow at her, a question playing on his face.

“No? What would you call this?” He asks, gesturing with his chin at the house on the other side of the street they were currently parked outside of.

“Research…?” She hesitantly answers, a high pitch on the end, suggesting it was likely stalking and she knew it.

“Right,” he says with a grin, and she gives him one back, knowing that he was trying to lighten the mood for her.

“I just…” she starts, only to glance back out of the window, the knuckle of her finger finding itself caught between her teeth, Wyatt’s hand coming to pull it away so she could speak. “This man—“

“Your dad,” he interrupts.

“He’s not my dad, I had a dad. This is just my…biological father.”

“Whose house we’ve been sitting in front of for thirty minutes,” he points out, taking another sip of his coffee, Lucy’s tea getting cold in the console.

She doesn’t answer him, instead continuing to stare out the window, slinking down in her seat as her eyes begin to water, the sprinkler trickling its droplets to the ground below.

“Why does everyone leave me?” She whispers to herself, but she knows he hears her, because he stills beside her, before awkwardly moving in his seat, his hand coming to rest on her forearm, calling her attention.

“Luce,” her eyes closing as the nickname leaves his mouth, fluttering open on the exhale. “Look, I don’t know who’s going to be on the other side of that door, but I do know that him leaving is not your fault. That’s on him,” he assures her, a gentle squeeze to her arm, and she finds her free hand coming to rest atop his knuckles, tucking the tips of her fingers into his palm. “He’d be lucky to know you.”

Lucy sighs, looking over at Wyatt, a thankful smile given, as she lans back to lean on the headrest, before she reaches up, her finger running over his cheek, the indent of a smile dipping her finger.

“You’ve got glaze on your face,” she smirks, gently patting his face, teasing him, as he lets her go, and wipes at his own face.

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you eat in the car,” he jokes, emphasizing the word car, making note that they were in fact still sitting outside this man’s house. “You gonna knock?”

Her anxiety saved by the ringing of her phone, telling them to head in.

“Not today.”

xxxxx

_“No, no, no, come on,” she says, twisting the key into the ignition once more. A sputtering sound coming back at her, the car refusing to turn on._

_Amy had left with her mom to head to school, leaving Lucy with an hour or so to get ready and head off to her own classes. Knowing that she was going to see Wyatt had her nerves surfacing, making the contents of her breakfast threaten to jump back up into her throat, her body doing its own version of a sputter at the thought._

_But she was off to a bad start, her car attempting to sabotage her._

_Hitting the steering wheel with the palm of her hand, she frustratingly gets out of the car, grabbing her backpack._

_She’s not sure what she’s going to do at this point. Her mom had already left, the bus had long since come and gone, and she didn’t know anyone’s number to attempt to get a ride._

_With a sigh, she hikes her bag onto her shoulder, and prepares to walk._

_She can already feel the sweat threatening to make its appearance on her clothes, having stopped to pile her hair atop her head and take off her sweater, her neck and arms threatening to burn in the sun hitting her pale skin._

_The school was a pretty good distance from her house and at this rate, she’s not sure if she should’ve just stayed home, a frustrated sigh escaping her._

_When a car pulls up, the grip on her bag tightens, until she sees Luke with his hand hanging out of the window._

_“Need a ride?” He asks, a leer to his stare. But she thankfully nods her head, before moving over to the passenger side._

_“Thanks” she says, climbing in, and tossing her things onto the floor, knowing that she never would’ve made it to her first class on time if she had had to walk the whole way._

_He just nods in agreement, before taking off. She quickly puts on her seatbelt, as he speeds down the road._

_“Missed you at the dance this weekend,” he says, glancing over at her, his eyes settling on her chest, and she crosses her arms in front of her, having shed the sweater on her walk._

_“I’m sure you had a good time without me,” she offers, knowing that he couldn’t possibly have actually missed her. She can’t be sure, but she can imagine how much she would’ve been in heels and a long dress - a walking hazard._

_“I could’ve had a better time with you,” he says, and although the words coming out of his mouth could sound sweet, the suggestion was there that his intentions were less than innocent._

_Lucy just sits in silence, not wanting to further the conversation._

_“What’d you do instead?” He asks, and she doesn’t even have to surmise an excuse, the truth more than lame enough to sound believable, at least from her._

_“I told you, I was preparing for my debate tournament,” she reminds him, and although she had had plenty of time to do so in the coming weeks, she wasn’t about to tell him that she’d spent most of the weekend curled up on the couch with her sister, daydreaming with a far off look about another boy with a crooked grin._

_“Right,” he says, as if he didn’t believe her for a second._

_Her fingers nervously twist in her lap, wishing for the drive to be over. They pass Jessica walking into the school, her blonde head whipping around to see them with a satisfied grin as Luke parks the car._

_Lucy felt stuck between awkward and really awkward, as she debated flying out of the car to get away from Luke or having to walk with Jessica shooting her snide glances on the way in. There really wasn’t any winning, so she chooses instead to fly out of the car as soon as it stops, bypassing everyone else for the long route, waling all the way around the school to get to her locker._

_Sure that she’s going to be late to her class now, she speeds up her gait, nearly tripping over her own feet, before steadying herself, taking a deep breath, and attempting to pull herself together._

_The same smile that Amy had pointed out before comes dancing across her face when she sees Wyatt leaning against her locker, his hand on the back of his neck in that nervous way that she always found him. His fingers were combing through his hair, the same ones that had been entangled in her own a few days ago. She grips onto her bag tighter as she nearly floats over to him on what feels like a cloud._

_Lucy can feel the exact moment that the smile falls from her face, that same sputtering felt in her chest when a hand appears on his shoulder, the blonde seemingly comforting him over something, glancing up to see Lucy, and shooting her a smug look, stopping her dead in her tracks in the middle of the hall._

_She can see the worry lines creased on Wyatt’s face, and Lucy ducks into an unfamiliar classroom before he spots her._

_She wasn’t sure what they had been talking about, but she couldn’t help but think that perhaps everything she had felt had been one-sided, somehow twisted into something of a fantasy, choosing to play out only in privacy where no one could possibly know what was going on._

_Peeking her head out from the doorway, she sees that he’s still waiting, but his back is facing her, and she uses that to her advantage, choosing to slink off to class, and avoid what her mind was currently screaming at her._

xxxxx

She can feel the rope digging into her wrists, the knots that bind rubbing her skin raw, but she can’t keep herself from moving, wiggling this way and that, hoping to set herself free, somehow.

Nervously glancing over, she can see Rufus’ worried face, and the hanging head of Wyatt, his neck draped back to an uncomfortable angle. Flynn having chosen to knock him out in the capture, assuming he’d be the only real fight, her and Rufus deemed not threatening.

When he finally comes to, she hears a loud intake of breath, his eyes wildly adjusting to his surroundings, unsure of where he’d ended up, the last place he’d been, outdoors with Lucy screaming his name for help.

“Lucy?” His sore, gravelly voice cracks into panic throughout the room, Rufus’ knitted brow nodding in her direction, Wyatt’s head violently whipping over to see her sitting on his other side.

“I’m right here, I’m okay,” she assures him, knowing that that was his next question, and hoping to settle him even just a bit.

What little she’d done only resumes when Flynn walks into the room. She can feel Wyatt’s anger radiating off of him, his shoulders as square as they can be handcuffed behind him, his jaw set, and his eyes glaring up at him in defiance.

Her eyes flutter down as Flynn begins to speak, catching the movement of Wyatt’s fingers, attempting to free a nail from the chair. Lucy’s brow raises, her eye big and begging, and Wyatt nods, as if to tell her to keep Flynn’s attention away from his hands.

When the Nixon tape begins to play, the color begins to drain from her face, her eyes demanding the attention, watering with realization, and her focus shifts to what it could mean that Rittenhouse was actually real. The thought of something Flynn had said, rather insisted was true, no longer able to be dismissed as delusion. And she can’t help but wonder that if he was right about this…was he also right about the journal? Would she eventually write it? Would she actually give it to Flynn?

“What is that?” Rufus asks, Flynn holding up the journal in question.

Before Flynn can answer, Wyatt speaks.

“It’s Lucy’s journal,” he says, bewilderment and betrayal playing in his voice.

“Ahh, but you would know that, wouldn’t you?” Flynn answers. “Did she tell you she gave it to me?”

“I didn’t give it to him, I didn’t even write it,” Lucy tries to explain.

“Well, it’s complicated, you see, she’s going to write it, a few years from now,” he explains, and Lucy vows to herself that she wasn’t going to do any such thing. But Rittenhouse, Rittenhouse was real. “You see, she and I are going to be quite the team one day.” He boasts.

“Wyatt, it’s not real,” she tries to explain, and he nods with a skeptical eye, as if he knows that Flynn is just playing games.

“Lucy, we’ve talked about this. You even admitted it’s your own handwriting,” he argues matter-of-factly, and it’s then that she snaps. 

“No, I said it looks like my handwriting,” she bites back, gritting her teeth, her tone coming out angry and frustrated. “Not that I ever wrote it or ever will.”

“But you did talk to Flynn? When?” Rufus questions, and she can feel her heart sink. Glancing over at Wyatt, she knows that look. The one where she’s about to let him down.

Flynn rattles off all the times they’d run into each other, and she can feel the lies building up. She hadn’t meant to, she never wanted to lie to either of them, especially Wyatt. But if she admitted to either of them what Flynn had been saying, what he was suggesting that a future her would do…it would be like admitting that it was real, that it would actually happen.

She didn’t want to betray her team, but she also didn’t want to betray herself.

“Is that true?” Wyatt asks, his voice calm, but she sees the way his eyes are squinting at her, his leaning from her, as if bracing himself for the truth, one that would hurt him.

“Wyatt, it’s…complicated,” she offers, and she knows that won’t satisfy him.

“No. The truth is not complicated, Lucy,” his breathy words carrying more weight than the others know.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what the truth is anymore,” and he should know that more than anyone. Every single time she ventured back to the present, some part of her life had changed. Her sister, her dad, her random fiance, the screaming truth Wyatt had delivered so long ago. It was all rattling around in her head, compounded with the information that she was likely going to be working with a known terrorist in the future. The lies and truths were so tangled in her head that she couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.

Even as Flynn pulls out a knife, moving to cut her loose, she can see the deep set dimple of determination on Wyatt’s face as he comes closer to her. He strains in his seat, even when angry, unable to just sit there and possibly be put her into harm’s way.

But the threat Wyatt offers, his own death if her and Rufus didn’t do what Flynn wanted, stops her from rubbing at her raw skin where the rope had been, more determined than ever to prove that she was loyal. That much wasn’t a lie.

Even with Wyatt’s instructions to forget him, save themselves and go to the Lifeboat, she can’t. Everyone may leave her, but there was no way in hell that she was leaving him.

“Five hours. Don’t hurt him,” she warns, turning to do her job, only wincing a little as Wyatt yells after her.

xxxxx

_The first few classes of the day have her leg twitching, bouncing up and down as she attempts to concentrate on the work at hand. It’s only when she gets to history that she’s finally able to focus, blowing the tendrils of curls out of her face, and chewing on her pen, the nerves only working their way through her with each passing minute that she didn’t see him._

_Her mind choosing to replay over and over again what had happened in that field. A taunting of sorts, contorting and twisting that evening into something she wasn’t sure she recognized anymore._

_She found herself wavering between the way he had made her feel, and the way her mind had set out to sabotage her. The omitted truths and avoidance weren’t just something she participated in, but a field that he was an expert at._

_She wasn’t really sure what was going on, but the longer she went without speaking to him, the more frustrated she became._

_Lucy doesn’t even notice him when she moves through the hallway between classes, so caught up in her own thoughts, until his hand is on her forearm, lightly calling attention to his presence._

_She lowers her head, slowly moving towards him, until they’re pushed up against a set of lockers._

_“Hey,” he says, as if nothing between the field and now had happened, adjusting his gaze to her bottom lip that she had tucked between her teeth, the taste of blood threatening to break at any moment, as she floated somewhere between giddy and confused._

_“Hi,” she greets him, looking up to find that his black eye was slowly shedding the bright red she’d witnessed before, and instead morphing into something akin to green, a pooling of purple still present. “It’s healing,” she gestures to the eye, and as if on reflex, his hand goes to touch it, and nods at her statement._

_They stand in the awkwardness that threatens to end something before they’ve even begun, catching them in its grasp, smiles begging to break through, but the intentions of the other contingent on their next move, and both stood still._

_Lucy grabs onto a loose curl, winding her finger into the natural curvature of her hair, twirling it around, giving herself something to focus on._

_“Lucy,” his voice coming out like a whisper in the loud hall of nosies surrounding them._

_She looks up at him, wide-eyed and anxious, until his hand comes up to still her worried fingers, choosing instead to tangle her hand with his own fingers leaving her hair to bounce back to shape against her white shirt. The dark curls contrasting with her pale skin, giving her a glow._

_Glancing around, she wonders if he realizes they’re in a crowded hall in the middle of the day, people able to see them, but her eyes meet back at his face. He’s wearing that grin, the one rendering a permanent staining of red on her cheeks, and a matching one to form on her own lips._

_Stepping closer to her, she’s tempted to bury her head in his chest, blocking everyone else out, content to just stay in the quiet of his arms._

_“So after tutoring,” he mutters, his confidence faltering only for a second. “Maybe I could take you…out, if you wanted,” he falters. Her concerns from before dissipating as she realizes that Jessica seemed to bring out the worst in her, nearly laughing at how ridiculous she had been to think otherwise._

_“Are you asking me out?” She tilts her head, her curls casting a veil across her face, obscuring her features. His hand reaching out, fingers whispering across her cheek, before pulling the unruly curls behind her ear, wrapping his finger in them again with a smile._

_“Yeah, I am,” he admits, and although his cheeks are tinted in red, he doesn’t hesitate or fumble over his words this time._

_She leans into his touch, the acceptance of his proposition on the tip of her tongue—_

_The bell for their next class interrupting the moment._

_She blushes, leaning forward to actually bury her head in his chest._

_“Is that a yes?” He murmurs against her hair._

_“Yes.”_

xxxxx

Walking swiftly with Rufus next to her, the words begin to twist in her head. Rittenhouse exists. Rittenhouse blackmailed Rufus to record their conversations. Flynn is fighting Rittenhouse. Eventually, according to that journal, she’ll be working with Rittenhouse.

Her boots hit the pavement, straight hair flying in her face, her vision focused on her footsteps, unlike her mind that was flying wildly. She didn’t really know what her plan was at this point past this mission. Saving Wyatt seemed to be the only thing that they knew for sure.

“So uhh, when you guys were…together,” Rufus broaches the subject, having never really brought up the two of them all too much. “Did you ever…fight?” His brow raised, and stops to look at him.

“Yeah, Rufus, we fought,” she wants to laugh, the thought of never having an argument with a boyfriend laughable.

“But you guys worked it out….right?” The fear that Rufus had at the level of angry that Wyatt was going to be between the two of them something that concerned him, and while Lucy wanted to comfort him, tell him that everything was going to be okay. She couldn’t say that all their fights ended well.

She sighs, unsure of how to answer.

“Right, right, you broke up. So good, this grudge will only last what, 15 years? Cool, yeah, great,” he rambles on.

“It’ll be fine, Rufus,” she says, but that itself could very well be a lie, and she has to remember to add it along to the very large pile of lies she was currently already sitting on.

Rufus stays down to create a distraction, while Lucy climbs up through the window, peeking in to find Wyatt still handcuffed to a chair, the guard leaving at Rufus’ distraction.

Moving through the curtain, she put one leg down, Wyatt’s bewildered look staring at her, but as she attempts to quietly slide through the window, her balance sways and she finds herself tumbling through, landing on her side. At this point, she used to it, and it seems Wyatt is too, because he doesn’t even laugh…or perhaps he’s still mad at her.

She worriedly scans over him, her eyes immediately finding the cut with a bruise already forming on his face.

“Oh, my God, are you okay?” She asks, even though it was her that just fell through a window. Her hand reaches to inspect his injury, but he jerks away in haste. For some reason, this room always found her trying to save Wyatt from certain death.

“He’s gonna come back soon,” he warns, speaking quickly. “There’s a nail in the trash can. Get it,” he gesture behind him, and she swiftly moves to get it.

“It’s so small,” she says, grabbing the nail, and moving to his rushed encouragement. But when she bends down to attempt to get the handcuffs unlocked, he can’t help the amusement tinting his voice when he asks what she’s doing.

“You can’t pick a lock,” he says with nearly a laugh to his voice at her attempt. There are many things she is capable of doing, but picking a lock isn’t one of them, and he knows it. “Put it in my hand.”

“I was just trying to be helpful,” she fires back with a pleading tone. “This nail better work, because I’m not taking off my bra again,” she jokes, and he shoots her a look that suggests there isn’t time for this.

She can hear the men coming closer, her face contorting into one of panic, as she feverishly glances back between the door and Wyatt.

When they finally hear the cuffs clank to the ground, they take off, only for the door to open right as they do, and Wyatt pushes her out of the way, behind the door, so she doesn’t get hurt.

Standing there, watching helplessly as Wyatt attempts to knock out this man, she searches for something that she can use to help. The grunting beside her escalating, and both of their safety seemingly depending on what’s done next.

Seeing nothing but a lamp, she picks it up like a bat, ready to swing if anyone came near her.

Lucy can feel her heart threatening to beat out of her chest, the loud bang of a gun going off, has her twirling around, afraid that what she’ll find is Wyatt on the ground, but instead she sees an amused and slightly confused face staring back at her gripping tightly to the lamp.

“You good?” She asks, her brown eyes wild with fear.

His hands are held out, approaching her slowly, taking the lamp from out of her hands, and setting it down with a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, his hand settling on small of her back, keeping her from tripping through the door in her panic.

xxxxx

_The second half of the day Lucy’s a shiver away from bursting into a smile. She finds herself practically running to meet Wyatt at the library, their session, for once, not the most exciting thing she had to look forward to._

_Instead of seated in his usual chair, she finds him standing outside the doors, one hand nervously shoved into his pocket, his blue eyes lighting up when he sees her approaching, causing her to shake her head at the absurdity of her earlier assumption that he was only interested in keeping them a secret._

_“You ready?” She asks, holding the door open to him, and he laughs._

_“Lead the way, Professor,” causing her to roll her eyes, his hand coming to land on the small of her back, escorting her through the door._

_“Lucy!” She hears, confusion scrunching her face, causing Wyatt’s hand to fall, and his features to steel when he sees who’s calling her name._

_“Luke,” she greets, her smile falling as he approaches. He halts next to them, that same smug grin that Jessica had earlier playing on his face._

_He turns so that his back is facing Wyatt, nearly cutting him out of the conversation, cornering her to where she could only see him._

_“You left this in my car,” he says suggestively, again the dissonance between the kindness of what he was saying with the tone he was using, giving her cause to cringe. He holds out her sweater from earlier, and she remembers having tossed it on the floor when she’d gotten in, forgetting to pick it up with her bag in her haste to get out of the car._

_“Oh, right,” she says grabbing the sweater from him, as he shoots a look at Wyatt. “Thanks,” she mutters._

_“His car?” Wyatt questions. Lucy panics, her mouth hanging open to explain, but Luke beats her to the punch._

_“Yeah, this morning,” he boasts proudly, like it was something more than just a ride in his car._

_“So she was right,” Wyatt mutters to himself, hanging his head. Lucy reaches for his arm, but he flinches away._

_“Wyatt, it’s not—my…I just needed—“ Lucy desperately tries to explain._

_“It’s fine, Lucy,” he says, keeping his head low, but she knows that everything was definitely not fine, as he moves to leave. His face flashing betrayal with a bit of defeat thundering behind his eyes, but they soften at her mouth hanging open._

_“Where are you going? We…” she gestures to the library, the implication of their plans still hanging between them._

_“It’s okay, I’ll take you home,” Luke offers, and Lucy whips around to him, having forgotten he was there, but knowing this presence and offer weren’t doing anything to help the situation._

_Stepping closer to Wyatt so only he can hear._

_“Wyatt,” she nearly whimpers._

_“I told you this wasn’t a good idea,” he shrugs. “It’s fine, really,” but the hurt plastered on his face tells her that it’s not. “You gonna be okay with him?” He asks, because even in all his anger, he can’t just let her go._

_She nods, content to just walk home at this rate._

_“Wyatt, we’re gonna be okay, right?”_

_He doesn’t answer, just gives her a hurt grin, no dimples, barely a crack, but an offered gesture of kindness all the same._

_“Bye, Lucy.”_

xxxxx

“I don’t trust either of you,” she hears in her head over and over, the words mocking her in the mirror as she gets changed, pulling her locket from being hidden underneath her shirt. The ride back home had been silent, her and Rufus afraid to speak, ashamed of what they’d kept from him. The betrayal that had been written on his face as he spoke those words, it seemed as if more damage had been done than just the lies. She didn’t know if it was the combination of the two of them that one of them came from her or perhaps Flynn had said something while they were gone.

All she knew was that he wouldn’t look at her.

Walking out with Rufus, she knows he wants nothing more than for this to be behind them. Her pleas earlier in the day, begging him to find a way that they could save Wyatt, leaving her vulnerable. They were in the same boat, him and her. Pawns in a game they didn’t want to play in the first place. And this time, they’d hurt someone they cared about.

Wyatt passes in front of them, refusing to acknowledge either of them.

“Lucy, tell me we’re gonna be okay,” he pleads, seeing how angry Wyatt is at them. And although he’s asking about their current situation, she can’t help but get the feeling that he also meant that he was asking something akin to a promise that they would all get out of this alive. The threat of Rittenhouse looming over all of them, today more than anything proving that the future was unclear.

She just looks up at him, wanting to reassure him, but she can’t lie to him. Not again.

“I don’t know,” the sound of silence afterward ringing more true than anything.

As they part ways, she watches Wyatt leave, she can’t help but wonder if what he’d said before had been wrong. Maybe she was the reason that everyone left.

This is the exactly the thought she plays through as she sits outside Benjamin Cahill’s house again, in the same spot as before, sans Wyatt. Her passenger seat missing the presence of the man wanted next to her. But this time it’s not the fear that plays in her mind, but the emptiness that constantly shivers through her. Refusing to accept the lies in her life, instead wanting to bring the truth to light.

With sigh, she makes the choice to get out of the car, her hand poised to knock on the door.

The fight for answers beginning.


	7. Chapter 7

_When the alarm had gone off that morning, Lucy was half tempted to turn it off, roll over, and spend the day in bed. With a heavy sigh, she tosses her blanket to the side, dragging her feet over the bed, and stumbling to her closet to get ready._

_The past couple of days had gone splendidly horrible. The day after what she was calling a colossal misunderstanding, had been a lonely one. Despite attempting to catch Wyatt with an apology, an explanation of any sort, he had bypassed her, unwilling to hear her excuses, the screaming lies the only sound he could hear whenever she opened her mouth._

_She’d pretty much sulked through her day after that, thankful that at the very least, she didn’t have to go through with an awkward tutoring session._

_As Lucy went through her morning routine, choosing to hide herself in a hoodie, tossing her hair up into a wild bun atop her head, she rushes out of the house. She had to be on time today, as the entire senior class was going on a field trip to a museum. She relishes in her luck, able to forgo the mundane routine and lose herself in the past of someone else._

_Throwing her bag into her car, she almost laughs at how easily it turns on when there was nothing to lose, choosing to malfunction when her choice had led her down a different path, one that could have veered her from the plan that had been put in place for her. Fate was funny like that._

_She sees a flood of students lingering around the front of the school, all prepared to head onto the buses provided for their excursion. Gripping the strap of her bag, she looks around, as she stands on the fringe of the group, hoping to avoid everyone._

_The morning dew clings to everything, frizzing her hair in the humidity, and she’s thankful she had thrown it up, although it hindered her from pulling her hood over her face and hiding from all the prying eyes._

_They’d chosen to load the buses by last name, figuring it would be easier to keep track of everyone, and she’s never been more thankful that Luke’s last name is nowhere near the Ps._

_Her head peeks over the first seat as she climbs the giant steps onto the yellow bus. She hadn’t ridden one in forever, usually only for field trips, and the smell that hits her lets her know why. The cheap, brown plastic seats seem to have the stench of moldy food caught in its creases, the loud voices of everyone echoing off the metal walls. Students attempting to yank down the stuck windows, and narrowing their eyes at her, as she walks row by row to find a seat._

_Every single seat was full or had a backpack shoved next to them to show it was saved. When she finds an open spot, it’s the seat with the wheel, causing her to scrunch her knees practically into her chest. Digging into her bag, she yanks out her French book, setting it next to her before moving to rest her head against the cool window, closing her eyes and waiting for the bus to take off._

_She hears the door screech closed, only to quickly reopen, someone having shown up late, their quiet apology not loud enough to make it to her ears._

_It’s only when she feels the seat next to her dip that she opens her eyes to see her book hovering over her crouched position. Peeking through her eyelashes, she finds her seat was the only one with an open spot._

_Out of breath, as if he’d run all the way here, he takes the seat, his leg momentarily rubbing up against her jeans, before flinching away. A frustrated sigh escapes from his lips, as her eyes widen at the recognition that of course the Ls would be put on the same bus. Grabbing the book from him, Wyatt Logan crosses his arms, and leans back against their seat, settling in for a long drive of silence._

xxxxx

Lucy’s shoulders slump forward, every part of her body aching, but she’s unsure if it’s from the exhaustion of 1754 weighing her down or the hatred she can feel cast her way from the blue eyed man who’d once known her so intimately, now a stranger that refused to acknowledge her with more than a grunt.

As the fire flickers to life, Rufus’ contribution to the night. she scoots closer, letting the heat of the flames hit her face. Wyatt’s face directly across from her, the light lapping at his features, attempting to take him in their grasp. The flames wanting him as much as Lucy finds herself yearning for something, anything from him.

Seeing her staring at him, he casts his eyes down, and she lowers her own with a sigh of defeat. Her fingers trace over the lines of her dress, the material offering a distraction from the crackling tension threatening to erupt.

Silence cuts them all deeply, their once blossoming camaraderie now simmering in the flames, heated with lies and deceit, the trust having been tossed in the fire with what felt like no embers to spark a reunion.

Picking up a stick, she moves it through the ground, bypassing rocks, and watching as the tension of her pull guides it back to her, before she picks it up, stripping it bare of its bark, piece by piece, tossing bits into the fire and watching it be swallowed whole, leaving nothing but ash behind. She can’t help but feel similarly, the events of the past continuing to strip her bare of their secrets, slowly but surely revealing themselves to her, only to toss her to the fire with a burn to her flesh in betrayal.

The crackling offering a sputtering pace of awkwardness to their silence, cut short by the actual snapping of a branch.

Lucy’s curls whip around her face, glancing back, the once dancing flames reflected in her brown eyes now engulfed with panic.

“What was that?” She asks, and Wyatt crouches, moving towards her with a squint to his eye, his hand reaching for his gun, as he inches closer.

She can feel Rufus at her shoulder when they hear it again, this time, several snaps at the same time, whispers on the verge surrounding them.

“Get up,” he counters with his own whisper, and she can see a line of worry appearing on his face. His arm moving to tightly grab onto her arm, her eyes flickering to the movement, the first acknowledgement of her presence since they started this trip, his fingers around the slim of her dress, before he practically flings her up to stand, staggering with the movement, as they’re ambushed.

“Run!” Wyatt screams.

xxxxx

_Lucy had tried to read for the duration of the ride, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her eyes seemed to wander every time she settled on a word, glancing over at the boy sitting beside her. He was antsy, tapping his knee up and down. Crouched down, sunken in the seat, her knees pushed up against the seat in front of her, she wasn’t able to see his face, but rather his hands. Situated on his leg, they had formed in a fist, not violently so, but like he was trying to contain something he couldn’t sit with._

_Whenever he’d move in the seat, her eyes would quickly flicker back to the page, before peering over again. Her thumb moving to her mouth, the nail jagged from the abuse of her nerves._

_She wanted to say something, another apology weighing on her tongue, but she knew her efforts would be futile. Wyatt had already made up his mind about her - she couldn’t be trusted. She didn’t blame him, she knew the way it looked. But the last thing she ever wanted to do was jeopardize what she had with him._

_Lucy’s so caught up in her thoughts, going round and round in her head about how to rectify the situation, that she doesn’t realize the bus has come to a sputtering stop until she hears the groans from her classmates._

_Scooting up in her seat so she can see what’s happening, she closes her book. The front of the bus seems to be smoking, and while she’s no mechanic, that doesn’t seem good._

_“Shit, now we’ll never make it to the museum,” laughs one of the students behind them, clearly having no interest in actually learning anything. “How will I know why they invented the…shopping cart?”_

_“That’s in Oklahoma,” Lucy mutters to herself, and she can hear the scoff beside her, Wyatt having clearly heard her comment._

_Her face scrunches in defeat, chastising herself for being so weird._

_The official announcement that they were waiting for another bus to pick them up, has most of the students howling with cheers, some groaning that the plan was still to end up at the museum. Lucy, however, felt like she’d been trapped in her own personal hell. An already awkward situation now exacerbated by the fact that yet another vehicle had broken down on her._

_Upon her sigh, she sees Wyatt look over at her, and her eyes grow wide, thinking he was going to say something._

_“Maybe Luke can come pick us all up,” he retorts, crossing his arms further, and she finds herself sinking down in the seat again with her luck._

_They were stranded on the side of the road and Wyatt absolutely hated her._

xxxxx

She finds the ropes around her wrists a familiar feeling, one in which she doesn’t want to be accustomed with again. The leaves crunch beneath her as she situates on the ground, her long dress tangled in the dirt and branches surrounding them. Although captured, she feels an odd sense of relief. Fascination playing on her features as she listens to their French captures prattle on about what to do with them.

“I think that’s Lieutenant Louis Coulon. He’s the only man George Washington has ever surrendered to—“

“No,” she’s interrupted by an irritated Wyatt. “No history, not right now,” he snaps, and she closes her mouth, watching in wonder as the man rides past them.

“Okay, I know this isn’t ideal,” Lucy acquiesces, shaking her head.

Rufus challenges that statement with a comparison that ends with him complaining about three days of trudging through the mud, no closer to figuring out what they’re supposed to be doing.

“Three days of listening to you whine,” Wyatt snaps, and Lucy feels like she has to be the voice of reason, attempting to calm them both.

“Flynn is still out there, and if we’re going to figure out what he’s doing, we have to work together,” her plea immediately shot down by Wyatt.

“Work together?” He scoffs. “Really? Because Rufus is over there—“

“Wyatt,” she chastises, begging him with slight shake of her head, her eyes wide and pleading.

But he ignores her anyway.

“Recording us for Rittenhouse,” he says, enunciating every word. “Yeah, we’re really working together.”

Lucy glances over at Rufus with a nod of an apology, not sure why she feels responsible for Wyatt’s words, but she does.

Lucy knows why Wyatt’s upset, she can even understand why he would be. But the constant bickering was starting to get to her, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could put up with it.

Leaning over, his mouth lingers by her ear, and she raises a brow at what exactly he was doing. Their guard too busy playing with Wyatt’s new fangled gun to notice that they were whispering to each other.

“How do you say, ‘I had sex with your mother’ in French?” He asks, and it’s just about the last thing she thought he would be whispering into her ear. Her head cocked and irritated. Her knowledge of the language having never been put to the test quite like this. “I know you know how,” he recalls.

“I do, but you can’t say that, unless you’re trying to get us killed right now,” she argues. Certainly not willing to offer up that piece of information.

“I’m trying to do my job, Lucy,” he replies, and she can’t help but find her eyes distracted by his words, focusing on the way they’re formed on his lips, towards her or not, she finds herself remembering a time when those lips used to pour words like wine over her, and now they sneered poison.

With his eye on the enemy, she leans over as far as she’s allowed in her restraints, whispering the fowl statement in his ear.

When he repeats it, she holds her breath, waiting for the inevitable showdown that sure’s to happen with a phrase like that. 

Her face takes on one of horror when a close call leads to a dead man in front of her. Lucy’s mouth still agape at what had transpired as he cuts them loose.

“I see your French hasn’t improved,” she breathily sneers.

xxxxx

_As the minutes tick on, Lucy’s legs become cramped, pushed up, her odd position causing her to fidget every few seconds. Eventually, moving her legs to come up underneath her, balancing on her knees, so she can see over the seat, her bun bouncing with the movement._

_Her coordination questionable, her leg shoots out and into Wyatt’s shin when she reaches for her bag._

_“I’m sorry, sorry,” she quickly apologizes, closing her eyes and shaking her head._

_“Just…don’t,” he holds up his hand, almost dismissing her._

_“Are you just going to…hate me forever?” She asks, biting her tongue at how brazen she’d been. But there were very few people who spoke to her at this point, and she’d lost the one person she found herself actually looking forward to seeing every day. A twitch of her mouth into a frown at her question, she lowers back down in the seat, pulling out part of her lunch._

_She’s munching on a carrot, angrily yanking it back and staring at the half bit off piece when she hears the response._

_“I don’t hate you,” he nearly whispers, and she glances up at him, hopeful brown eyes searching for a flood light of direction, and he shrugs at her. “I just don’t trust you,” he finishes, as if she couldn’t sink any further into herself, she pops the rest of the carrot into her mouth and loudly chomps on the nerve she ever had to believe that things could be different._

xxxxx

Staring at, what at this point, was a useless Lifeboat, Lucy feels stranded, inept, in more ways than one, as Wyatt continues to ignore her. It’s not the first time she’s managed to betray his trust. It probably won’t be the last. But she also knows he’s not innocent in that department either. There was a time when she had put all of her trust in him, and he’d shattered every part of her that was left.

He stalks off by himself, leaving Rufus to try to salvage what little can be done, and Lucy to trail behind him.

She comes across him rummaging through a soldier’s pockets.

Leaning against a tree with a sigh of frustration, knowing that he knows she’s there, but refuses to acknowledge her.

“Come on. You have to talk to me at some point,” she pleads, holding her arms out before flopping back down against her dress. Her eyes bloodshot and puffy from lack of sleep, her skin covered in mud, and still he looked at her like the enemy, instead of the comrade stuck in the exact same place as him.

“What do you call this?” He gestures, as if the words being exchanged by them right now were enough to warrant something akin to what they had.

There had had been years where she didn’t even know if he were dead or alive and yet she felt closer to him then than standing a foot away from him now.

“Look, Wyatt, I will say it again, and I will keep saying it. I’m sorry for not telling you about the journal.”

“It’s bad enough you didn’t tell me, but then to be read what you wrote by Flynn, of all people?” He laments, his brow raised, eyes wide, speaking as if she knew what was said.

“What are you—“ She genuinely asks, having absolutely no clue what he’s talking about, but he interrupts her quickly.

“Yeah, Flynn told me,” he says, dismissive, and she knits her brow, a jerk of her head, curious as to what Flynn could’ve told him that would make him this angry at her.

“Look, I don’t know what he told you, but you can’t believe whatever came out of that journal. It’s not real, it hasn’t happened,” she pleads, stepping closer to him, her eyes begging him to believe the woman standing in front of him, not the one that may or may not write the journal.

He cocks his head to the side, as if challenging her. “No? None of what he said is true?”

“Wyatt, you’re the one that told me to figure out what I’m fighting for…” She starts, not wanting to finish the rest in fear that he’d only break her heart again.

“Yeah, Amy. I know,” he finishes for her, and turns around, not seeing the roll of her eyes that are threatening to fill with tears, because he refuses to see that the fight she’d been battling for him had lasted a lot longer than the one for her sister.

xxxxx

_After an hour, the new bus still hadn’t arrived, and people were beginning to grow restless as the heat permeated throughout the small space, irritation growing. The teachers making the decision to allow them off the bus into the grassy area on the side of the road._

_Upon getting off, Wyatt had taken off, attempting to put some space between the two of them._

_The grass was long, reaching past her ankles, and leaving her with a sinking feeling that wasn’t just in her stomach, but her entire body falling through the blades. A barbed wire fence was situated a few feet away, cows grazing in the pasture._

_At this rate, the students on the other buses were already at the museum, their worksheets being filled out in groups, wandering through artifacts whose stories were so much deeper than the plaque placed in front of them._

_But not Lucy. No, he was stuck on the side of the road with complete strangers and one guy who wishes he didn’t know her._

_Settling down by herself, she sits in the grass by the fence, the slight breeze rustling the weeds, as cars zoom by on the road, some drivers looking out at them like they were a curiosity, none of them stopping._

_Pulling out her notebook, she moves to get a jump start on her French assignment, but finds herself doodling in the corner, a weed flower near her, its color a welcome distraction from what’s going on._

_When she was a kid, she never needed to be entertained, her imagination providing all the company she needed. She had been shy, observing others rather than joining in. It was a trait she often wished were different. Over the years she’d gotten a little bit more bold, but for the most part, her sitting in the back, watching as everyone grouped up, leaving her by herself, was the norm._

_Pulling her knees up, she rests her notebook against them, her elbows dangling over, staring off in front of her._

_“Can I sit here?” She doesn’t move her head, instead lowering her knees, closing her book, and she shrugs, not really wanting to fight anymore._

_She hates that as soon as he’s near her, she feels a little more at home, a little safer. It’s a feeling she’s unaccustomed to, and isn’t quite sure what that means that she only feels it when he’s around._

_“I uhh, I don’t think that bus is coming,” he tries to break the silence with a statement._

_“It’ll get here eventually,” she answers back, attempting to keep things civil, for now._

_“Lucy,” he sighs, I guess frustrated with how this conversation was already going. Her finger traces over the letters on the cover of the book. The F starting reflect something more akin to failure than a fluency in language. She couldn’t even manage to speak coherently in English._

_“Look, I get it, okay. You don’t trust me…” she trails off, not sure what else there is she can say. Straightening her legs, she slumps in defeat._

_Plopping down next to her, he takes the book in his hands, studying it like it carried the answers to everything he had a question for._

_“French, huh?” He says with a raised brow, and she knows he’s going to say something, because even her counselor had advised her that Spanish was a wiser choice, especially given where she was located. But she’d insisted that she continue with French, the language of love, a subject she was clearly not even close to mastering._

_She looks over at him thumbing through the pages of her textbook, waiting for him to continue._

_“So…does this book tell you how to say ‘I’m sorry’ in French?” He asks, refusing to look at her._

_“Je suis désolé,” she responds, and he raises his eyebrow at how quickly she came up with that, clearly impressed._

_“But how do_ **_I_ ** _say it?” He asks, thinking she had answered as herself._

_“That is how_ **_you_ ** _say it,” she raises her brow, and he gives a gruff laugh at her wit. “Same sound, different spelling.”_

_“I deserve that,” he admits, and she gives a slight nod, knowing that with her constant apologies, at some point it was going to take his admittance of wrongdoing in order to move past this._

_“You do,” she counters, looking at him with a straight face, not breaking to indicate she was joking in the least. He gives another laugh, this time a bit quieter, more introspective._

_“Look, umm, in my family, there are no apologies,” he confesses, and she can tell with the wince on his face, that talking about this was something akin to pain. “And I sometimes fall into that trap of acting before I have all the information,” he says with a duck of his head, peeking out behind his dark lashes at her, the apologetic blue sneaking through. “But I don’t want to be like that, not with you.”_

_Lucy doesn’t say anything, just reaches for his hand, silently tucking her fingers into the grooves between his own, entwining them together with a gentle squeeze, letting him know that she wasn’t going anywhere. She knows how guarded he is when it comes to her personal life._

_“I get it,” she says, moving their entwined hands to her lap. “My mom would rather just make a decision for me, as opposed to actually letting me have a choice. But Wyatt,” she hesitates, making sure that he’s looking at her when she speaks. “I’m not like them, okay? You can trust me.”_

_“I’m not good at letting people in,” he quietly admits._

_She can feel his blue eyes traveling over her face, settling on truth resting on her lips, before coming to the conclusion she hoped he would, a nod of acceptance sliding across his features._

_“Do you forgive me?” He pleadingly asks with remorseful eyes._

_“I don’t know, I never actually heard an apology,” she deadpans, and he smiles at her, that crooked grin, dimples and all._

_Leaning closer, his mouth just a whisper away from her ear, he offers what she’d been yearning for._

_“Je suis désolé,” he says, trying to mimic her words from earlier in what is possibly the worst french accent she has ever heard, but she can’t help but smile at the attempt._

_“That was terrible,” she laughs, her hand coming to rest on his cheek, her thumb pricked by the stubble playing on her fingertip. “But I forgive you,” she laments, the language of love still tingling on her ear, ringing throughout her, as his lips land gently on her’s. Forgiveness tasting something akin to the building of trust._

xxxxx

A slight tug on her ankles, making sure that the rope was tight left a mar on her skin. It wasn’t the first time she’d been tied up that day, but it would likely be her last if they didn’t figure out how to get out of this situation.

Looking over at Wyatt, his eyes dance in the flames in front of them, she can hear the hurt in his voice when he had asked Rufus who he had that he could really trust in this world? She ducks her head, ashamed of how much weight they’d shoveled onto his shoulders.

His whole life he’d been the one assigned to look out for everyone, and every time he managed to build up the trust to let someone in, let someone hold him up, even just a little, they’d bailed, betrayed him, and left him to fall over onto himself.

To trust was to be vulnerable, and while Wyatt didn’t give it away easily, he had managed to bury his faith in her, believing that she’d cared enough not to hurt him. And she had. Granted, it wasn’t intentional, and if you dug deep enough, it was likely an attempt to protect him. But all the same, she had, and it nicked at the wound still beating with the hurt he’d left with her years ago.

The sounds of battle cries echo around them, the fear growing on their panicked faces, aglow in the fiery light.

Mistaken for British, waiting for the chief to arrive, last minute ditch efforts are surmised in the dark of hushed whispers.

“Come on, Wyatt, there’s got to be to get us out of this, right?” She pleads, a slight shake to her movements, as she the realization that this might really be it sinks in.

“Unless one of you can barf up a knife, I think we’re gonna be here awhile,” he sarcastically throws out, but still swaying a bit, side to side, attempting to slip out of his restraints, not yet giving up completely.

Lucy’s head leans to the side, her eyes closing, the soft glow of the fire beating down her exhausted body, threatening to go limp if not for the rope holding her up.

“You know, if this is really it, like, really it—“ Rufus starts.

“Don’t say that,” she interjects. “It’s not.”

“Even if we get out of here, there’s not telling if we’ll actually make it out of 1754,” he reasons, and she lets him talk, because he has a point. They were stranded in more ways than one. “I can’t stop thinking what I wouldn’t give for one more Chocodile.”

Her eyes shoot his way, a look of pure confusion playing on her face, startling him from his daydream.

“What the hell is a Chocodile?” Wyatt croons, a small chuckle coming from his chest, unable to keep a serious face even in their circumstances at the ridiculousness of what Rufus just said.

“A twinkie. Covered in chocolate,” he says matter of factly. 

There’s a look, albeit briefly, where she meets eyes with Wyatt, the absurdity of this conversation getting to both of them and they bust out into quiet laughter. A moment of reprieve from their situation.

“Rufus, that is monumentally stupid,” Wyatt chides, his dimples peeking out for the first time that day.

“Well, clearly you’ve never had one,” Rufus laments, and Lucy shakes her head.

“No,” she says for the both of them, Rufus joining in in their amusement, before growing serious once more.

“What I wouldn’t give to be able to tell Jiya how I feel about her,” Rufus admits.

Lucy quirks a grin at the man.

“How do you feel about her?”

“I like her. We went on a date once. It was super awkward. Haven’t had the guts to talk to her about it since. I don’t know why that, of all things was scary to me…just talking to someone,” his honest, heartfelt confession has Lucy smiling. The truth of his statement hitting a nerve, sending a wave of recognition through her. The miscommunication between her and Wyatt not something new, but something tired and true.

The future they may never get lingering on the peripheral - one that she’d dreamt of so long ago, stolen from her, only to once again be reimagined.

“When I was little, my mother used to read to me these biographies for children,” she reminisces, chancing a glance at Wyatt, knowing that he knows this story, having come across the books. “It was like, ‘Einstein for Kids.’ ‘Churchill for Kids.’” His grin plays off of the one she has thinking of a time when she trusted her mom enough to read to her, make her feel safe. “They were really good, actually,” she admits, and she’s not sure if she’s talking about the books or the memories.

She worries her bottom lip, afraid of being too honest.

“As I got older, I saved them, thinking that I would…eventually…read them to…our kid,” she says, her voice dipping, choking back an image she’d long since buried, one of a kid with dark hair and blue eyes. Her brow knits together, but she can see Wyatt’s face fall at the mention of a future neither of them were granted. “But that was…that was a long time ago,” she tries to recover, not wanting to dampen the mood anymore than she had.

She doesn’t expect him to respond, so she’s shaken when his gravelly voice breaks through the crackling of the fire.

“I…I wanted that too, Luce,” he sorrowfully discloses.

She can feel the hollowing in her chest quench, the acknowledgment that hadn’t all been in her mind. That there had been a time when they had dreamt of the same future now laid before them as they accepted that fate, or choice, had left with them at death’s door with nothing but what could have beens.

With a heavy heart and teary, closed eyes, she nods.

“I am so sorry, Wyatt. I didn’t mean…I just…”

“Lucy,” he tries to calm her. “Luce, hey,” and she opens her eyes to peer over at him. He his head leaning over in her direction, his blue eyes shimmering in the light, crooked grin smiling back at her “Je suis désolé.”

With a lick of her lips, she gives a silent laugh.

“Still as terrible as ever.”

xxxxx

_By the time the bus had arrived, there wasn’t enough time to make it to the museum and back before the school day was over, so one by one, they piled onto the new bus, back from where they came._

_Pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands, she finds her head resting against the shoulder of Wyatt this time around. The hum of the bus lulling her to sleep, her arms wrapped around his one, her knees pushed up, to where she’s sitting in a ball against him._

_“Lucy,” she feels whispered against her head, before hearing the word, reverberated in herself before externalizing her name into a request to wake._

_“We’re home,” he answers her silent, groggy question, and she snuggles further into the crook of his neck, not wanting to move. Feeling that sense of home on the curvature of his arm more so than wrapped in the blankets of her bed._

_“Come on,” he nudges, and she grips his arm tighter, not wanting to move._

xxxxx

Quickly, Wyatt grabs her hand, hoisting her up and into the Lifeboat. The gallop of horses stomping their way closer by the second. It seems they were constantly on the run, lately. Danger and death nipping at their feet at every turn. They’d narrowly escaped one situation, only to be chased out of another, and…another.

Closing the door just as they arrive, she flings herself into her seat, her hands shaking as she reaches for the her seatbelt. Her shaky fingers quickly replaced by the steady hands of Wyatt, nimbly strapping her in with a nod, before sinking back into his own. It’s only then that she sees the faintest crack in his exterior, the fear playing on his nerves, having situated her, and now focused on himself.

When they’d agreed to do this, to play the odds, there had been a moment, a look shared between the two. A silent promise, no turning back, that they were in this, together. 

When Wyatt had told her that he was in, it had seemed it wasn’t just this gamble into the void that he’d made, but one that he planned on keeping. 

“Me too,” she’d agreed, choosing, once again, to place her future into the hands of a man who had let her down before, would likely let her down again, but whose vulnerability was unwavering in his intentions, and therefore forgiveness forged between them for the time being. The past a hurdle they would come to eventually, but the present one leap away from an unsettling truth that they needed each other to overcome.

The bullets ricochet off the metal of the Lifeboat, a visible grit of her teeth at each hit, unsure if they were going to come through the door and pierce her skin.

“We’re not going anywhere,” she panics, as the Lifeboat sputters in place.

“This patch is not as strong as the rest of the ship,” Wyatt argues, and her face pales at the realization, gripping tighter to the straps of her seatbelt.

“Come on Rufus, get us out of here,” she pleads, the engine whirring to life as he works for a takeoff.

As they spin out of control, Lucy’s cry is whisked from her mouth, left with nothing but a pained face. A hand appearing in front of her, reaching out. Prying her fingers from the strap, she clamps onto Wyatt’s extended fingers, gripping tightly to the lifeline offered to her. A silent reminder that she wasn’t stranded, suspended in time with no one, but intertwined with another in the past, still gripping tightly in present.

xxxxx

_Wyatt eventually coaxes her out of the bus, and outside of the school, ahead of the rest of the students that had actually made it to the museum. Their dismissal still contingent on the bell._

_Wrapping his arms around her, she buries her face in his chest, the awkwardness of inexperience seemingly dissipating as he wraps her warmly in his embrace. She teeters between nerves and contentment constantly, but right here, right now, she feels good._

_“So you remember…when I asked…you know, about a date,” his confidence suddenly waning once again, his grip becoming looser._

_“Yeah,” she mumbles against him._

_“You don’t have to…I mean, if you changed your mind, and you don’t—“_

_“Wyatt,” she stops him, leaning back so her chin is resting on his chest, looking up at him. “I made my choice,” she says with her own dimpled smile._

_“Oh yeah?” He asks, a cross between a smug shyness playing on his face, knowing the answer, but genuinely wanting reassurance that he was right._

_“No backing out this time,” she whispers, standing on her tip toes so she’s eye level with him, her sleeves resting on his chest, her fingers barely gripping his shirt to pull him to her even closer. She can feel the warmth of his breath on her lips as they close in on his, tentative, until he responds, slowly, a gentle pressure that leaves her wanting more, tugging on his shirt, the crook of a smirk forms on his lips at the gesture breaks their kiss only for a second._

_“You’re my choice, too.”_

_The words formed on his lips lessening any shadow of doubt in Lucy’s eyes._

xxxxx

Lucy brings her thumb to her mouth, licking the Chocodile filling with a smile.

“These are so disgusting,” she says with a grimace that has Wyatt looking up to laugh at her.

“You’ve got…” he points at her mouth, indicating some sort of crumb on her face.

“Here?” She asks, apparently, completely missing, because he leans far over the table, the pad of his thumb gently grazing over her lip to gather a piece of chocolate that had held fast to her skin.

“Got it,” he murmurs, bringing the dark fleck to his own lips, her eyes following his finger as his tongue flicks out to gather the crumb. “You’re right, this is terrible,” he agrees, pouting his lips in disgust.

Her mouth quirks into a grin, before looking down at her still full drink. Rufus had since left, meeting up with Jiya and leaving the two of them alone.

“Did you mean what you said…earlier?” She asks, her finger dancing across the rim of her flute of champagne. “About history,” she clarifies.

“Yeah,” he hums, refusing to avert his eyes, instead gazing at her in a way that would’ve made Rufus uncomfortable. 

She nods, trying to come to terms with the idea that although her fate was likely determined, she didn’t yet know what that fate was, and the choices she made to get there were as of now undecided.

“Do you think it’s too late to rewrite our fate?” Her eyes finding his, and with a tilt of her head, asking to head down the now beaten path of the past, the same choice, hoping for a different outcome.

“It’s never too late to make a change. It’s your choice, Lucy.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she can see her hand shaking, just slightly, as she applies a small amount of lip gloss. Leaning against the counter of the bathroom, she moves her face closer to the mirror._

_“I don’t know why you put that stuff on, it’s just going to come off,” she hears from the doorway._

_“Amy!” She chastises, but her sister doesn’t even blush at the insinuation that what she said was inappropriate._

_“I know I’m right,” she confidently declares, more bluster than a girl her age should have._

_Lucy just shakes her head, as her sister moves further into the bathroom, leaning against the same counter._

_“Does Mom know you’re going out with a boy?” Amy asks, her voice a bit smaller._

_“No, and I’d like to keep it that way,” she says, nudging her sister with her hip._

_“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her about your secret boyfriend,” she whispers._

_“He’s not a secret,” she tries to argue, but she knows that although she’d found herself not caring what anyone at school thought, she wasn’t ready to hear her mother’s opinion on the matter._

_Amy narrows her eyes at the statement._

_“I just don’t want her to…ruin it, you know?” She feels like she’s talking in circles, and wants to just cover her face with her palm in frustration._

_“Got it,” Amy sympathetically nods. “Where are you going?”_

_Lucy meets her sister’s eye in the mirror, a half grin on her face, and Lucy raises her brow._

_“I don’t know,” she says, furrowing her expression. “He didn’t say,” the bubbling of excitement right on the surface of her nerves._

_Taking one last once over of her appearance, her favorite pair of jeans, and a green lightweight sweater that lay mostly hidden behind a thick layer of dark curls that she’d tossed to one side._

_“You look pretty,” Amy says with a smile, and Lucy scrunches her nose at the compliment._

_“Yeah?” She says, hitting the light of the bathroom, walking with her sister down the stairs, their mother locked in her study, leaving the girls to their own devices, per usual._

_“Are you gonna be okay tonight?” Lucy asks worriedly, having usually spent most weekends curled up with her watching a movie or reading._

_Amy gives her look like she’s insane._

_“We just rented 10 Things I Hate About You, I’ll be fine,” she teases, knowing full well that she’s watched that movie about five times with her already._

_“It would be cheaper to just buy it at this point,” she rolls her eyes, grabbing her purse._

xxxxx

Rolling over, she can feel thumping of her head, screaming in the slight movement. Her hair clings to her face, threatening to strangle her where she lays. There’s a clinking noise that she can’t place, but the dizziness stirring within her keeps her from opening her eyes to find out.

Reaching for her blanket, she comes up short, grasping at empty space, instead gripping a sheet, the texture unfamiliar, but her mind blurs, and she yanks the material over her head, hoping to cut out any light from peeking into her eyelids and awakening her further.

Lucy’s not sure what rouses her first, the smell of coffee or the incessant ringing next to her - no longer just a sensation pounding inside her head, but one reverberating against an object close in proximity.

Groaning, she reaches her hand out, determined to make the noise stop, fumbling around for the offending object, hearing a crash, having knocked something over, before grabbing onto a phone.

Blearily she brings the phone into her cocoon she’s fashioned, looking for a way to make it stop, but comes up empty, squinting one eye open, seeing Agent Christopher’s name on the screen, the illuminating screen threatening to blind her.

“Agent Christopher?” She tries to ask, her voice raspy, straining at her vocal chords.

“Lucy?” She hears, a confused voice on the other side of the line. “Are you with Wyatt?” The question catching her off guard, unsure of when they’d crossed that boundary for questions like that.

Closing her eyes, she rolls onto her back, the blanket slightly moving from her head, leaving her boss in silence.

“I need the two of you to come in. Flynn’s taken the mothership out.”

“Got it. I’ll be right there.” At least that’s what she thinks she responds with, she’s uncertain what actually came tumbling out of her mouth.

Reluctantly yanking the sheet off of her face, she’s confronted with the image of a bedroom she had never seen before.

Shooting up in bed to a sitting position, she grabs her head, a dizzying spell casting itself upon her at the sudden movement.

Panic seeps through her, unable to remember what exactly happened the night before, but certain that she didn’t remember going home with anyone.

Frantically looking around, she finds that she’s in the same clothes from the night before, only her shoes missing.

Throwing her legs to the side of the bed, she searches for her shoes and purse, ready to make her getaway, until she trips over a picture frame laying face down on the ground, likely the object she’d sent flying in her haste to find the phone.

Picking up the frame, she turns it around to find her own image staring back at her. It’s the same picture she had hidden in her locket, and she finds herself unconsciously reaching for the dangling jewelry hanging around her neck, the edges worn smooth from her touch.

Her smile in the photo almost mocking the grimacing frown she had on her face as her head continued to ache, a whole new panic racing through her as she realized where she was.

xxxxx

_She doesn’t know what she expected when the time Wyatt had said he’d be there had come and gone. Flopping down on the couch next to Amy twenty minutes past when she should’ve already left, she huffs out a despaired sigh. She hates the feeling that pops up, strangling her with the thought that she somehow wasn’t worth showing up for._

_“I don’t think he’s coming,” she forlornly whispers into the space of the large living room. No sooner had the words left her mouth when she hears a small knock at the door._

_Amy’s practically jumping up and down, as Lucy nervously looks to see if her mom had bothered to come out of her study to investigate the noise._

_Sensing that the coast was clear, she cracks open the door to see an equally nervous Wyatt on the other side._

_“Hi,” he says with a crooked grin spreading across his face, as if all his nerves had dissipated at the sight of her. She wished that she could say the same for herself, her mouth in a slight frown._

_“Hey,” she nearly whispers back, taking in his blue jacket he was wearing that highlighted the shade of his eyes, and the way his hand moved to the back of his neck, not sure what to say next._

_“Hey,” Amy enthusiastically says, pushing the door open so she could see him too._

_Wyatt looks a little taken aback, before settling into an easy grin._

_“You must be Amy,” he nods with a silent laugh at how her eyes grew at the mention of her name._

_“Wyatt,” she says, squinting her eyes, as if studying him. “He’s cuter than you said…even if he is late,” Amy shoots at Lucy, and she can feel the blush immediately heat her face at her sister’s statement._

_Wyatt shoots a look at Lucy, his brow raises and a flush of embarrassment settles on his cheeks at the comment._

_“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, clearly beating himself up over being late._

_“Ooookay, that’s enough of that,” Lucy takes a step out of the door, blocking Amy from view. “I’ll see you later,” she half sneers, half warns her little sister._

_Before she can close the door, Amy moves out again, motioning with her finger for Wyatt to come closer._

_He sends a slightly worried look towards Lucy, tucking his hands in his pockets, before bending down to Amy’s eye level._

_“Don’t hurt her,” she warns with all the serious gumption a girl that small could._

_“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers back at her, lighting up her face, and sending a heated smile to Lucy’s cheeks._

_“You ready?” Wyatt asks, and Lucy nods, glancing back at Amy as she closes the door, the movement of the curtains in the window moving to show that she was most definitely watching them._

_Walking towards a car she’d never seen before, there’s a flicker of movement between them - his hand raising as if to touch her, but then drops to his side._

_“I am sorry about being late,” he sincerely confesses._

_By the time they make it to the car, he opens the passenger door for her, and she smiles to herself at the gesture._

_“Thanks.”_

_Holding onto the frame of the car, leaning down to see her face as she climbs in and fastens her seatbelt. The click seeming to shake him from his thoughts._

_“Your sister, she’s something else,” Wyatt laughs._

xxxxx

Making her way out of the bedroom, she tucks her hair behind her ear nervously, unsure of what reaction she was going to meet from Wyatt on the other side of the door.

The image she’s met with is one she’s familiar with. Wyatt is standing in the kitchen, his hair askew, rubbing the back of his neck, leaning against the counter with his coffee.

Upon hearing her, he turns around, giving her a crooked smile, his eyes far more vibrant that she knows are staring back at him. She probably looks like a deer caught in the headlights of an awkward situation she doesn’t even begin to know how to navigate with him.

“Did you sleep well?” He asks in a teasing lilt, bringing his mug to his mouth to hide the grin he was trying to stifle.

“I umm,” she fumbles. “Can I get some?” She asks, and his brow shoots up his forehead. “The coffee,” she gestures. “Can I get some coffee?” She cringes.

“Sure,” he laughs, pouring her a glass, remembering to add the exact amount of creamer she required to stomach the black liquid, before sliding it across the counter to her.

She nods her thanks, avoiding his eyes.

“Agent Christopher called…she needs us to come in,” she says into her cup, scrunching up her face at the taste, placing his phone on the counter next to them.

“Ahh, I was looking for that,” he says, pocketing the phone, looking at her in a way that had her shifting from foot to foot. “Figured it must have gotten lost in the shuffle,” he thinks out loud, bringing his mug back to his lips.

“Yeah, about that,” Lucy starts, puckering her lips in a way that suggested it wasn’t a big deal what she was going to say next. “Last night…”

He brings his mug down.

“You don’t remember?” He asks, genuinely concerned.

“Oh, no, I _remember_ ,” she tries to play it off. “I just…wanted to make sure you did,” her words getting lost in the cup, another scrunch of her face at the black liquid.

“We can stop and get you a tea on the way,” he says, grabbing her cup from her and setting it in the sink, and she nods, thankful. Not even with a hangover could she stomach that, nor the conversation of what exactly happened last night.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna…find my shoes…” she trails off as he disappears back into the bedroom.

“Luce,” he calls from across the room, and she looks up to find him dead serious. “I remember.”

xxxxx

_Silence fills the car. It seems she wasn’t the only with nerves, because every once in a while she can see him glance over at her, before quickly moving his eyes back to the road._

_She wipes her palms on her jeans, before bringing her hands up to twirl at her curls, tangling her fingers in distraction as she usually did._

_“I didn’t know you had a car,” she wonders aloud. In all the times she’s seen Wyatt, he’s always been walking, so this development comes as a surprise to her._

_He laughs at her observation._

_“I don’t. Let’s just say I borrowed it for the night,” he says with a wink._

_Her eyes grow wide._

_“Tell me you didn’t steal this car,” she half teases, hoping that that wasn’t actually the case._

_His laugh grows louder at that._

_“I didn’t steal the car, Lucy,” he jokes, but she can see his grip on the steering wheel going a bit whiter at the knuckles._

_She nods, relaxing in her seat, but she can still feel the nerves racing through her._

_“So where are we going?” she asks, hoping to ease into conversation. At the tutoring sessions, they never seemed to be out of things to say, but for some reason, tonight, silence just clung to them like their lifeline._

_“You’ll see,” he answers, a worried look gracing his features, and for the first time that day, she found herself worried about where they were going, as he seemed to genuinely feel that she would be disappointed._

_“But what I’m wearing…it’s okay for where we’re going?” She asks, glaring down at her choice of jeans, before looking up in his direction._

_She can see his eyes tracing over her, flickering to the road, before landing on her eyes, only briefly, and her tongue comes out to quickly wet her lips._

_“Yeah, you look…good,” he nearly chokes out the last word, coughing before focusing back on the road ahead._

_“You look…good, too,” she awkwardly replies, bringing her leg up in the seat, getting comfortable, and it earns her a dimpled smile, causing her to duck her head. The overcast sky casting a faint glow that surely highlighted the blush of her cheeks._

xxxxx

The car ride had been nearly silent. Lucy quietly sipping on her tea, and Wyatt sending a flickering glance her way every few seconds. Their eyes had only caught once, and she’s quickly looked away, not wanting to alert him to the awkward panic that was rising in her.

As the two of them made their way into Mason Industries, it didn’t go unnoticed by Rufus that they arrived together, nor does the fact that she’s wearing the exact same outfit from the night before.

“Good night?” He throws out, and she turns around and shoots him a look, until he’s holding his hands up in surrender, but the shit eating grin still playing on his lips.

As they’re debriefed on where they’re going, they head to wardrobe, where Lucy becomes acutely aware of Wyatt’s position in reference to her own. She tries to bury her head in the clothes, but obliviously, he continues to essentially orbit around her. Her every movement countered with one of his own.

Rufus stares at them like they’re some kind of side show act that he can’e get enough of.

“Alright, before I suffocate myself in polyester, are we sure Flynn’s heading to NASA?” Wyatt nearly groans, shifting through the hangers.

“Man lands on the moon today. NASA’s the only thing going on in Houston,” the thought of them once again traveling to Texas not lost on her. “Believe me, it’s the only thing going on in the world,” she nearly chokes out.

Wyatt continues to talk to Rufus, but Lucy finds herself tuning out, staring at the fabrics in front of her, the wild colors of the time blurring, as her headache from earlier persists.

“We should stick together,” she hears Wyatt suggest.

“I think we should split up,” she blurts out, the two of them staring at her outburst. “I just…we’d cover more ground that way, right? Catch Flynn faster,” she suggests, her ulterior motives to put some space between her and Wyatt hopefully hidden by a plan.

“That might have to be the plan with these badges. They’ll get you into Mission Control,” Agent Christopher hands them out, each one in a completely different area.

“FBI,” Wyatt grins with a chuckle, obviously impressed with his assignment. 

Lucy stares down at her badge. Secretary.

“I just feel like I would be able to cover a lot more ground if I weren’t a secretary in the typing pool,” she argues, not sure what she’s likely to accomplish there.

“She says to the guy whose only possible cover is janitor,” Rufus sarcastically holds up his badge with look that has her rethinking her claim.

“Touché.”

xxxxx

_As they pull up, she can see the flashing lights, balloons tethered, floating up around the signs in various colors, the milling of people - kids way too hopped up on sugar - lines of people waiting to get in._

_“I would not have taken you for a Fall Festival kind of guy,” she says with a squint, quickly getting out of the car, and staring up at the ferris wheel that towered over the entire crowd with its bright lights, begging for people to be suspended high above the ground._

_Wyatt hesitates, only for a second, as if debating with himself on what to say, before settling on full on enthusiasm._

_“Oh yeah, I uhh, come every year,” and she knows that’s a lie, but she plays along, nodding with a skeptical look that he doesn’t catch._

_The weather had only dipped slightly when autumn had officially began, settling somewhere in the high 90s and calling it “cooler weather.” But the humidity was holding strong today, even in the evening, never quite allowing anyone to truly feel like the holidays were coming up._

_After Wyatt had insisted on paying for them both to get in, even after she’d offered, they made their way through the throng of people. Most of which were students, high school and college, and young families that had brought their kids. Lucy nearly rammed into a stroller, gripping onto Wyatt’s arm, as he guided her through the crowd._

_“So, uhh, what do you want to do first?” He asks, looking around at wild advertisements for food. Apparently, in Texas, they will just fry anything. She felt overwhelmed, the large crowd making her uncomfortable, but she wasn’t about to let him know that, her fingers refusing to lessen the grip she had on his arm._

xxxxx

The humidity immediately sets in as they land. Lucy had quickly buckled herself in - well, as quickly as she could - before Wyatt could reach over and offer his services. Nearly jumping out of her seat when the door opened, stumbling over her feet to exit the Lifeboat.

“You okay?” Wyatt whispers, moving quickly to catch up with her.

“Yep, fine. Just…want to get the job done,” she says with a forced smile, stopping Wyatt as Lucy continues walking.

“Some night,” Rufus laments, patting Wyatt on the back, before moving to catch up.

Entering the building, they all immediately split up, not so much following Lucy’s suggestion, as it were that both her and Rufus were practically eyeballed the entire time, making sure that they landed in their assigned places.

Sneaking off by herself had been easy enough, but as she swiped the key card again, she sighed in frustration. Agent Christopher had promised this would get her in, and yet, here she was, the anxiety washing over her.

“Hey,” she hears, a tall man towering over her. “Need some help?” He asks in in a very unhelpful tone of voice.

“Oh, no,” Lucy chides, bringing a smile to her nervous face. “Just umm, trying to get my card to work,” she explains.

“You have to have the right clearance to get in,” he says condescendingly staring down at her.

“Right, yes, I should have all access—“

The man nearly pushes her out of the way to use his own card, which instantly allows him access.

“Just like you do,” she gives a forced smile, the kind that has her gritting her teeth at the smug face he wore.

“Sweetheart, grab me a cup of coffee when you get a chance,” he calls out, closing the door she needed to enter.

“No, no, no,” she tries to argue, but to no avail, as he seemingly continues to demand what he wants from her.

Narrowing her eyes, she can feel the headache continue to pulse against her head.

xxxxx

_“Oh wow, they have funnel cakes,” Lucy laughs. “I haven’t had one of those in forever. When I was a kid, for a treat, we’d sometimes go into the city to Fisherman’s Wharf and my dad would let me play games and I’d always get a funnel cake,” she reminisces, looking down at her converse. She didn’t bring up her dad often, the memories painful, taking their toll on their whole family - her mother having thrown herself into her work even more so afterwards._

_As if sensing that she was turning in on herself, Wyatt lightly nudges her with a smile._

_“Well, how about we get one…for old time’s sake?” And she finds herself agreeing with a watery smile._

_“Really?” She lights up with excitement at the sweet gesture._

_“Sure,” he agrees, his hand briefly whispers across the small of her back, sending a shiver up her spine._

_Heading over to the stand, she can see him tense, it’s only just slight, not enough for most to see, but she’d spent a fair share of time with him - unknowingly stowing away information, like muscle memory, she didn’t even think about why she knew, just that she did._

_Making his way back over to her, his once smiling face now crestfallen, until he presents the plate in front of her._

_“Thank you,” she greets, tearing off a piece as he holds the plate and shoving the hot dough into her mouth, powered sugar dusting into a cloud._

_His face then tilts into his usual grin, one where he finds her particularly amusing. Maybe it’s the groan she lets out at the treat or the way she leans her head back, she’s not sure, but whatever it is, it’s caused his smile to return._

_“What?” She asks, her eyes alight with wonder, as his lips twitch with words unspoken._

_“You uhh,” he reaches up with his free hand. “You have something on your…” and before he finishes, she can feel the pad of his thumb gently swiping at the powdered sugar that had landed on the side of her face._

_She freezes, her heart beating erratically in her chest, threatening to rip from her body at his touch. She’s not sure why she’s so nervous, having shared a handful of kisses with him before, but something about this date made things…official. They were on the verge of something, she wasn’t quite sure of what, directionless in their journey, but converging at a crossroads, on this night under the glow of twinkle lights._

xxxxx

Lucy has her head down, hoping to avoid the attention of anyone, as she hides out at a table from anyone that could be looking for her. That is, until she feels a presence behind her. Afraid it was going to be the same man, she suits up her armor, prepared to fight, but finds that her weapons are useless, seeing Wyatt standing behind her.

“Hey,” he ticks his head, setting a cup of coffee in front of her. “You find anything?”

“Nope,” she says forlornly into her cup.

“Okay, what’s going on?” He whispers in a raspy voice, the kind he only really gets when things are serious.

“Nothing,” she says with a bobble of her head, sending the flip of her hair bouncing.

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” he says, taking a seat next to her.

“I don’t want to talk about this here,” she gestures, urging him to realize they were in the middle of a mission.

“Talk about what?” Rufus asks, approaching their table. “How Anthony has ruined everything?”

Wyatt gets up from his seat, frustrated. She’s unsure if it’s the mission or her that’s causing more upheaval in him.

Explaining what exactly happened, the three of them agree that what was going was, “really freaking bad.” Wyatt’s words, not her’s.

The best course of action is for her and Rufus to undo what has been done while Wyatt focuses on Flynn.

“You two just make sure those astronauts get off the moon,” he says, speaking to them both, but choosing to only look at her with a level of concern that suggested it wasn’t the astronauts he was really worried about.

Walking off, Rufus stares at her.

“Seriously, what happened last night?”

“I wish I could tell you,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee with a grimace.

xxxxx

_“Come on,” he breaks, leading her further into the fair, continuing to hold the plate as she tears at the dough._

_They walk in silence, Lucy’s mouth full of her treat, tasting a bit like childhood right on the cusp of bordering on assigning a new taste to the treat, one that felt like it could be love, maybe in the future. Wyatt watches amusedly with a flicker of his eyes, taking in all the sights, but always settling somewhere on her._

_“So…what do people do on first dates?” She asks, and he stops to look at her with a tilt of his head. “What? Don’t act surprised that I haven’t exactly done this before,” she wobbles her head, bouncing her curls in a matter of fact way._

_He holds up his free hand, signaling that he wasn’t judging her._

_“I think we’re supposed to get to know each other, right? So…Wyatt…tell me something I don’t know about you.” The question seems innocent enough, as she ate another piece of the funnel cake, licking her finger. But he tenses again._

_“I don’t know,” he shrugs._

_“Okay,” she tries to salvage the question. “How about I ask you something instead? Yeah, okay, umm, you met my sister,” she prompts with a raise of her brow at her sister’s unconventional greeting. “What about you, do you have any siblings?”_

_“No,” he snips, choosing not to elaborate. But she faults herself, it was a yes or no question, how can you elaborate on that?_

_“What about your parents?”_

_And he bristles even more at the mention._

_She furrows her brow, stopping them in the middle of the crowd._

_“Ooh, okay, something easier,” she excitedly prompts, taking the now empty plate from his hand and tossing it in the trash ahead of them. Clumsily walking back to stand in front of him, she smiles, trying to ease everyone’s nerves._

_“Hmm, okay, it doesn’t get easier than this. Favorite color?”_

_“Green,” he replies without hesitation._

_“See, that was easy,” she says, even though she knew it wasn’t the same as what her answer would’ve been, at least she had him talking._

_He licks his lips and sighs, as she thinks of another question._

_“Okay, we can both answer this one. Favorite type of cookie,” she throws out._

_“Oatmeal raisin.”_

_“Chocolate chip,” his face cringing at her answer._

_“What? They’re good,” she says, not sure if she should be reading into the fact that they had very little in common._

_“Just keep the raisins away from me,” he teases, but her face falls at the comment. Keeping her head down, they begin walking again, heading to striped awning with bundles of straw to sit on._

_xxxxx_

“How could Anthony do this?” Rufus’ betrayed face asks her. Lucy stares helpless at the man, unsure of how to help. “He knows what these astronauts are going through more than anybody.”

Crossing her arms, leaning against the desk, she studies a torn man, unable to rectify the actions of someone he thought he knew so well, and yet had betrayed him so deeply.

She may not have understood what it was like to be the first in that Lifeboat, but she was no stranger to people she thought she knew ripping the rug out from under her.

“We were more than just friends, coworkers, we were brothers,” his brow furrows, an anger seeping into the betrayal at the magnitude of what his friend, his brother had done. “I thought I knew him as well as I knew myself….but if he’s willing to make those astronauts go through what he went through, then I don’t know him at all.”

Stepping closer to him, she can see that Rufus’ eyes are watering, and she finds her own fogging her vision as well.

“Hey, I get it,” she reaches out, grabbing his attention. “I do. I thought I knew…well, I thought I knew a lot of things, and you know what? I’m still trying to figure it out,” the vague reference to Wyatt, causing her eyes to water along with Rufus. “But hey, maybe there’s more to the story, yeah? And this, this is not over. We can still fix this,” she says to him, as if she’s speaking to herself, assuring them both that there was still time, personally, professionally. There was still time.

xxxxx

_Crossing her legs, she shifts uncomfortable on her seat, and Wyatt seems to be looking every which way but her._

_“You wanna ride a ride,” he asks, his lips pursing, his eyes hopeful, but Lucy can’t think of anything but how awkward this is all going._

_This time it’s her turn to shrug, not wanting to push him into anything._

_“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he says, grabbing her hand, his palm sweaty. He lightly pulls on her arm until she’s standing, her other hand coming to grip onto his forearm as he led them to the ferris wheel._

_The line was long, and she could see him digging into his pocket for the tickets he’d gotten at the beginning. She didn’t know how many were left, but surely enough for this ride._

_She feels the drop of water before she sees it, and then before she can even relay the sensation, the sky opens and begins pouring on them._

xxxxx

Hustling down the hallway with the punch tape she needed, she attempt to avoid eye contact with everyone, not wanting to call attention to herself.

Glancing down at the tape, she hopes she got the right kind, when she looks up to be approaching the last person, aside from Flynn, she wanted to run into again.

“There you are. Sweetheart, I never got that coffee—“

“Sorry, very busy,” she cuts him off in a cheery voice, hoping to quickly bypass him.

But he takes the slight personally, grabbing onto her arm, whirling her around with a sardonic smile, the entitled kind that would leave her panicking in any decade.

“Come on, doll. How busy can you be?” He condescendingly shoots at her.

Yanking her arm back quickly, her tight, fake smile from before melts into one of indignance, her tongue at the ready to go off on this man.

But then she remembers where she is, or more accurately when she is, and quickly licks her lips, preparing to put out the fire that was sparking into a confrontation.

Her arms comes to rest on her hip, her lips turned up into what looks like will be a friendly, compliant comment, inching closer to the man, whose fowl smelling burn of cigarettes reek from him.

“You know what?” She asks in a voice that entices him to come a little closer.

He mocks her position, putting his hands on his hips as well, as if he’d just scolded a child and was now going to receive a come on from a beautiful woman.

With a smile, he steps closer, and she holds her breath.

“Trust me, you do not want the cup of coffee I would bring you after grabbing me like that,” she finishes with her face in a stern, take no bullshit line.

Turning, she plasters on another fake smile, as she sees another woman, and another, the misogyny not just limited to her, but widespread among all the women circling Mission Control, keeping their heads down and allowing it to continue to keep their job.

But she had nothing to lose.

So with a turn, she’s back in his face.

“And by the way, my name isn’t Doll or Sweetheart or anything else that sounds like a baby. The women here have actual names. I’m sure you can learn their names. It’s not that hard. Kind of like making coffee for yourself,” she stuns him into silence. “You’re a rocket scientist. Figure it out,” and with a flip of her hair, she walks down the hallway to several women silently thanking her with a nod or a slight smile.

She finds even her own smile stretching across her face, the taste of her own coffee on her lips. The one that Wyatt had made her. The significance not lost on her.

xxxxx

_By the time they make it to the car, they’re completely soaked. His jacket lays heavy on her body, collecting every droplet of rain and clinging to her. Her wet curls adding to the weight of the night._

_Wyatt shakes his short hair spraying water everywhere, but it does little to dry him, his shirt proving to have been no match for the torrential downpour._

_“You want to wait it out?” He asks, hopeful, but one glance out the window suggests that the weather wasn’t about to let up anytime soon._

_“I think it’s a lost cause,” she laments, and although she sees his face fall, she knows she’s not wrong. This date, like the weather, was unexpectedly bad._

_With a nod, he starts the car and makes his way back to her house._

xxxxx

Lucy’s head continued to spin as the events of the day played out. The adrenaline of fear from watching Rufus shoot someone in front of her somehow settling about the same with the fact Flynn had managed to just…save his sibling, no problems. While she continued to wait around for the go ahead to get Amy back. All of this compounded with the frustration that she was still unclear of what exactly had gone down last night.

The glow of a computer illuminating a shadow of a man as she walks up the steps. Rufus sitting quietly by himself, likely contemplating the ramifications of what had happened.

Settling into the chair next to him, he bounces on his leg.

“You and Wyatt got a big date?” He jokes, but it falls flat, clearly avoiding the actual issue.

“Oh yeah, he’s gonna drive me to my car,” she says with a raise of her brow.

He nods, his heart not really in it.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

“Yeah, fine,” he scoffs off, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t shot and killed a man.

“Rufus, you…didn’t have a choice,” she explains, not faulting him for what happened, but wanting to make sure that he doing okay. It was one thing to go on these missions, it was another to actually kill someone. “It was self defense.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m fine, really,” he gives a short laugh. “That’s the problem.”

Lucy tilts her head in question.

“What…what do you mean?”

“I feel fine. I killed a man, and I feel fine. I’d do it again, too. I’d shoot Anthony, taking away Flynn’s pilot, and giving us all back our normal lives,” he explains matter of factly, like it was something he’d thought about a lot.

“Whatever ‘normal’ means now,” she shrugs, not sure of what exactly she’d be going back to if that were ever the case.

“You and Wyatt, white picket fence, 2.5 kids,” he jokes, and this time she laughs at the notion that to Rufus, normal means her and Wyatt, despite having never seen them together. Her head sinks to her hand, before pushing her hair out of her face.

“That was never my normal to keep,” she whispers.

“When I first started this,” he gestures around them towards to the Lifeboat. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. I was practically afraid of my own shadow. And now…” He hesitates, shaking in his seat, his eyes twitching with worry. “Lucy, what am I becoming?”

It was a question she couldn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what was becoming of any of them. The past, their “normal” forever shifting into something that resembled this crazy life as their baseline. Their continually shifting with moral character with each crazy situation. The three of them just trying to cling onto anything they could to anchor them to this world.

She can feel Rufus’ pain radiating off him, shaking with a fear so internally buried into the very core of himself, stemming from the same fear that one day she’d write that journal, team up with evil.

In that moment she can’t offer him any words of comfort, because she didn’t have any. But she could be there for him, offer him the feeling of knowing that he wasn’t alone, neither physically or in his fears.

So she extends her hand. And he grabs on.

xxxxx

_Parking outside of the curb, Lucy looks out, the lights on, suggesting that her mother had either gone to bed or was still buried underneath her research._

_Turning off the ignition, they sit quietly, the only sound the pattering of rain against the car._

_“Well, I should—“ she gestures to her house, reaching for the door._

_“I’m sorry, Lucy,” he says, the once difficult apology, now coming easily to him when it came to her, apparently._

_Putting her hand down, not quite yet opening the door, she turns back towards him._

_“I uhh, I wanted to take you to some fancy restaurant or the movies…but…” he says with his eyes practically closed, almost as if he were ashamed of what was to come next. “I couldn’t pay for it.”_

_The sudden realization that despite him insisting that he pay, he didn’t actually have the money to do so._

_“I’ve been working around town, fixing’ people’s cars, but it only pays so much, and I didn’t…I wanted to take you out somewhere nice, but I just didn’t…I don’t have the money.” His hands move to his eyes, trying to dig out the embarrassment, succeeding in only watering them slightly to make them even more blue in the faint light from the street lamps._

_Lucy lets out a deep sigh._

_“Wyatt, I don’t…I didn’t want some fancy date,” she says, a small half grin playing on her lips, ducking her head, so he can see her from his position. His eyes meeting her’s, holding steady, and she swears, the way he looks at her could melt her right there. “I just wanted to spend time with you.”_

_He closes his eyes again, giving a deflated nod._

_“I don’t like to talk about my life. There’s nothing worth mentioning. It’s empty…except for you” he admits, the honesty radiating in the blue of his eyes. “And I didn’t want to mess that up.”_

_“You didn’t,” she whispers, her gaze sweeping over the sweet, remorseful guy in front of her. He looks at her like she’s his lifeline, a beacon of hope that had been passed over by everyone else, but for some reason, he could see her so clearly. His soft gaze full of promise and earnestness. She had never felt more adored than in that moment._

_“You know, you asked me what my favorite color is, and up until I met you, I didn’t have one. But umm, in the sun, your brown eyes, they have these flecks of green in them,” he hesitantly admits, and she swears in that moment, he was her’s. “That’s my favorite color.”_

_The rain syncopates with the beat of her heart, its droplets cascading around them, leaving the possibility of a new start, washing away the past and leaving them with nothing but the cleansing grip of each other._

_A quick moment’s hesitation and a quirk of a barely there grin etched on her lips, before she scoots over in her seat, awkwardly positioning herself into his space._

_One of his hands still rests on the steering wheel, as she capture his lips in a kiss. The culmination of an awful set of events leading to a moment so enraptured with a sense of identity wrapped up in each other. His free hand settling in her hair, still wet from the rain, slipping through more easily than usual. The pressure of his lips moving against her own threatening to be her undoing - a soft groan escaping her, swallowed by him. Two people lost on a beaten path, finding home in each other._

_So caught up in the other that they don’t notice a pair of eyes and a shuffling curtain from her house._

xxxxx

Walking out with Wyatt, she’s quiet. The question of who they were becoming kept swirling in her head.

It’s not until she begins to bite her thumbnail that he gets her attention.

“You know nothing happened, right?” He asks, as if sensing her panic, unable to help.

“Yeah,” she awkwardly shoots out. “I know,” she squints, continuing to chew on her finger.

“You had a lot to drink. I didn’t want to deal with your mom, so I took to you my place. I slept on the couch,” he states, and she can feel his stare with those wide blue eyes.

She nods, looking up to find him slightly grinning.

“What? What did I do?” She asks, unable to recall anything from the night before after their discussion of rewriting history.

“Nothing…you just…I forgot how much you talk when you’re drunk.”

Groaning, she brings her hand to cover her face.

“Did I say something awful?” She asks through her fingers.

“Nothing too bad,” he winks, but she knows he’s telling her the whole story.

She smiles, relief that at the very least she hadn’t thrown herself at him to a swift rejection. Small victories.

“You okay?” He asks, the same question she’d just asked Rufus.

She doesn’t answer immediately, unsure of if she really was. Wondering if Wyatt ever wondered who they were becoming.

She was never really sure with him. Settling on one answer only to be surprised with another. But there was one thing she was sure of.

“You made me coffee,” she whispers, almost to herself. The small act seemingly very telling of just exactly who he was, despite the past screaming at her otherwise.

“Only because there wasn’t any tea,” he shrugs, like it was no big deal.


	9. Chapter 9

_It didn’t happen often. In fact, it was almost a rare occurrence when the three of them actually sat down to a meal. Lucy’s mom was always busy, leaving the two sisters to their own devices - meaning that there was a lot of take out when it came to Preston family dinners._

_However, tonight, for some reason, there they were, gathered around the large dining table. The books that had once littered the top of it, having now been haphazardly stacked on a chair in the corner._

_Amy had been sending Lucy looks the whole meal, as they sat quietly and ate._

_“This is…weird,” Amy says, breaking the silence._

_“Why’s that, honey?” Carol asks, as Lucy shuffles around her dinner across the plate, never really taking a bite, but rather piercing her green beans with the prongs of the fork._

_“We never eat together,” she says grimacing, shoving a huge forkful of food into her mouth. “What’s the occasion?” Shen asks with her mouth full, words garbled._

_Lucy holds back a laugh at her sister’s antics. She was nothing if not blunt._

_Carol angles her head, taking a sip of her wine._

_“I just thought it would be nice if we all sat down to a nice meal, caught up on each other’s lives,” she says the last bit with an eye on Lucy._

_The glare makes her nervous and she shifts in her chair. Amy makes a noise, almost like she’s choking._

_Lucy pointedly pats her back._

_“Having some trouble, sis?” She glares, not wanting Amy to giver her away._

_“Nope, I’m good,” she glares back with a fake smile._

_“So…Lucy, what’s new with you?” Carol asks, chewing slowly, her eyes raking over Lucy as if she were in some sort of interrogation and she was playing good cop._

_“Not…much,” she says, shoving a bite into her mouth, hoping to keep herself from speaking._

_“Are you seeing anyone?” She asks, her eyes narrowed, like she was attempting to catch her in a lie. It had been a couple of weeks since their first date, and she thought she’d been careful to keep it from her mom, but her question suggested otherwise._

_“I see a lot of people,” Lucy jokes, looking over to find Amy placing her hand over her face, embarrassed for her._

_Carol nods._

_“What about Luke?”_

_“Yep, I see him too,” she curtly responds._

_“I think he likes you,” she throws out there, and Lucy’s face scrunches in disgust before she can hide it. “And it wouldn’t hurt you to go on a date or two with him…”_

_“Mom,” Lucy cuts her short. “I can find my own dates, thanks,” and then bites her tongue at the trap she might have just stepped into, her mom’s eye raised. “But…I suppose I could give him some more…thought,” she carefully chooses her words._

_“That’s all I’m asking. That you really think things through.”_

_Lucy nods, a sullen look passing over her face, as she twirls her beans around._

_“I uhh, I don’t want to brag, but I actually got the part of a tree in the school play. So…” Amy interrupts, taking the attention off of Lucy._

_“Well…that’s…nice,” Carol responds much to both the girl’s amusement._

xxxxx

**_“Ya think so?”_ **

Lucy stares at the name lit up on her phone. The one that sends her heart racing, holding her breath, not even realizing it until the ache in her chest begins to become unbearable. It doesn’t say anything monumental. In fact, in the grand scheme of things he’d said to her before, it ranks as pretty mundane.

But she can’t stop thinking about everything that’s happened, not just the months since they found themselves thrust back together, but the years before that that she had spent confused, dangling from a string of self-deprecation that had led her to fulfillment in her career, and self-doubt in her personal life.

Clicking into her messages, she sees he’s the only contact she’d been texting lately. And she wants to smack herself for doing so.

The name below his, the fiancé that she had cast aside without so much as trying to get to know him.

He’d sent her a handful of texts, sparingly. Noah had clearly not wanted to push her into anything, his patience one of his strong suits, apparently. But she felt bad for leaving him in the wings, completely in the dark about what was going on, where they stood. Because as far as he knew, they had just been about to head into matrimonial bliss, before she’d halted the brakes on a stranger she had just met.

But as Wyatt’s words glare back at her, taunting her, calling for her fingers to type back in response, she finds herself clicking on the name below his, summoning a meeting of a future she could have had in another life, but that she just hadn’t given a shot.

She could be different. She could be with someone different.

The invitation is extended before she can stop herself. Her lip finding its way to her mouth, as she hits send.

She knows it’s a step in a direction, maybe not the right one, but a step nonetheless. So why does she feel the knot in her stomach tighten at the thought of having dinner with Noah?

She clicks on the name now below Noah’s, quickly texting a response.

**_“It’s so happening.”_ **

xxxxx

_The cap of her pen sits between her lips, her brow furrowed, as she looks at the book in front of her. She can feel Wyatt’s eyes on her, causing her to slowly remove the pen from her mouth, bitting on her lip before letting her gaze wander over to the staring boy next to her._

_What would once have been a misdirect, a quick jerk of his head to pretend like he wasn’t looking, now had him sitting still, a crooked grin gracing his features as she caught him staring._

_“What?” She asks, their eyes meeting._

_“Nothing,” he states with a grin._

_“Did you finish the homework?” She asks, never relinquishing her job of tutor, first and foremost._

_“Can’t,” he answers, and she flops her hands down on her book._

_“And why is that?” She cocks her head to the side, eager to hear his answer to this._

_He glances around, and she finds her head following his, seeing that no one else was around them in the library._

_Leaning forward, he lingers a breath away from her, his lips teasing her with the words forming, his hand gently pushing her curls behind her ear in a sweet move she found he did quite often. If she didn’t know better, she thought he enjoyed the feel of it between his fingers. His dark lashes cover the blue for a second as she shifts his gaze, and then they’re back on her eyes, a soft crooked grin playing on his lips now._

_“Too distracted,” he murmurs, and she almost laughs, if she wasn’t so busy staring down at the same lips uttering those words._

_She playfully reaches out, looking like she was going to stroke his face, only to softly push it away, and he plays affronted before laughing._

_“Wyatt, we have to finish. I want to just relax tonight, and I won’t be able to if I know I have to finish this assignment,” she nearly pouts._

_“Got it, serious, homework mode,” he teases with a straight face, before breaking into a smile._

_“Thank you,” she concedes, and picks her pen back up, wanting to finish quickly so they could head her to house._

_“Lucy,” he says after a second or two, her name sounding like a melody on his tongue._

_“Hmm?” She hums, not looking up until she doesn’t hear a response._

_“Your pen is upside down,” he points, and sure enough she’d been trying to write with the cap. “Now who’s distracted?”_

xxxxx

Lucy’s scans the endless rack of clothes for their trip. The beaded dresses lightly prick her fingers as they move across the material on the hangers. Pulling out an ivory cream colored one, she examines the detailing of the lace.

“Did you see Rufus and Jiya just now, they were—“ His sentence cutting off short, only resurfaced with a soft chuckle, grabbing her attention, alerting her to the fact that she wasn’t alone in her perusing of wardrobe.

“What?” she asks, turning her head slightly, still holding the dress, to find Wyatt looking at her with a skeptic look of amusement.

“Still wearing the engagement ring of a man you don’t know?” He asks, burying his own head in choices set before him, pulling out a shirt.

She glances down at the ring. It shimmers in the light above, and she remembers having to dig it out of the drawer she’d buried it in earlier that day. As she had arranged the food onto her and Noah’s plates, she’d remembered that it might send more of a signal to Noah if she weren’t wearing the ring, so she’d rushed upstairs, opening the drawer. There at the bottom had been the diamond, the reminder that her life wasn’t one she recognized anymore.

She was trying. She was making the effort, but she couldn’t help but think of the life she could’ve had, in another life, if it were a different man’s ring sitting on her finger.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, awkwardly pushing her hair back. “No, actually, I just put it on because…” and she hesitates to continue, not really sure how much she wanted reveal to Wyatt. “We had a date,” she finishes quietly, trying not to make it into a big deal.

But she knows that he heard her, the intake of breath from him, not easily exhaled, an indication that it was in fact a big deal no matter how much he tried to play it off.

“A date?” He asks, in a higher pitched voice than usual, his brow shooting up his forehead, but she turns before he can see her, continuing to look over her options.

“Mhmm, first date for me…400th for him,” she explains, thinking back to how their date had turned out. She’d tried, she really had, but no matter how much she attempted to get to know him, he put up another wall, irritated that her questions were things asked on a first date and not information well established and ingrained in her, like breathing.

_“So…what do people do on first dates? I think they’re supposed to get to know each other, right?”_

Her mouth quirks up into a smirk at the thought of her and Wyatt’s bad first date.

“It was a disaster,” she sighs, turning around to hold up a black dress that would likely drain the color form her cheeks, leaving her to look even paler than usual.

Wyatt scrunches up his face with a quick shirk of his head, indicating what she already thought. Not the dress for her.

Turning back to keep looking, she hears his question.

“So where’d you go?” It’s hesitant, but it’s there.

“I uhh, I cooked him dinner,” she says with a smirk.

“So you ordered in?” He knowingly says with a tilt of his head.

“Hey, I can cook,” she defends, pointing the hanger she’s holding at him.

“Lucy, you can’t even boil water. You microwave your tea,” he laughs, and it’s not long before she joins him, knowing full well that it’s true.

“Okay, I ordered in,” she shrugs with a blush, putting the dress back before looking for one that catches her eye.

“Why don’t you just cut the bastard loose already? Let him be with who he’s supposed to be with,” he says, following along with her, shuffling through clothes.

Her eyes twitches at that. Since when does Wyatt believe in fate?

“Maybe I’m who he’s supposed to be with,” she counters, and she doesn’t miss the scrunch of his face at her words before staring at her like she’d grown another head.

“You can’t be serious, Luce,” he scoffs, refusing to believe that.

She wrinkles her forehead at him.

“Well, think about it, in another reality, I was going to marry him…I loved him?” The concept feeling strange even just saying it. “So maybe I can learn to…do the same in this reality,” she admits, her shoulders slumping at the idea, before stalking off to another aisle of clothing.

“You shouldn’t have to learn to love someone,” he chimes in, following her, and she closes her eyes tightly, knowing that love wasn’t something you learned, but something you felt. But Lucy was a woman of facts, emotions getting too messy. “You should have your sister, not a fiancé,” he attempts to convince her of the reality of their timeline.

And the statement hits her like a punch to the gut. A not so casual reminder that not only had her sister vanished from her life, erased from existence, but that in this life, she wasn’t meant to have a fiancé.

“Believe me, I know that,” she narrows her eyes, dredging up memories of the past, tinging her voice with a razor edge.

He seems to recognize what he’d said, treading lightly.

“I’m just saying, you should let this Noah guy be with who he’s supposed to be with,” the implication that Lucy should be with who she’s meant to be with weighting his words more than either of them cared to admit.

xxxxx

_“Are you sure this okay?” Wyatt asks, as they walk into her house._

_“It’s fine. My mom has a night class, she won’t be home until late. The movie will be over well before then,” she assures him, closing the door behind him._

_Wyatt looks around, staring up with wonder in his eyes. It was the first time Wyatt had actually been in her house, the past few weeks just meeting her at the door before they left._

_“You uhh, you have a nice house,” he shyly admits, shoving his hands in his pockets._

_Lucy shrugs._

_“I miss my house back in California,” she admits. “We used to have this big bay window in the living room, and I would do my homework in the window seat. It was…nice,” she quietly states._

_Wyatt just nods with a smile._

_“It’s okay to miss it, you know,” he nudges her shoulder, clearly not wanting her to be uncomfortable for his sake._

_“I know…I just…I like it here too,” she mutters, and he laughs._

_“No, you don’t.”_

_“You’re right. But I like you,” she says matter of factly, tilting her head back, and he leans in to give her a kiss, his hand landing on her neck, a habit she’s finding he enjoys, his thumb able to smoothly stroke her cheek._

_“Eww,” they hear, breaking their kiss, his hand quickly leaving her._

_“Amy,” Wyatt laughs._

_“I signed up for a movie, not to see if you guys can swallow each other’s faces,” she teases, and Lucy can see Wyatt’s face becoming red at being called out._

_“We are going to watch a movie. I just have to make the popcorn and we can start,” she gestures for Amy to go into the living room._

_“She hates me,” he says with a squinted look at the retreating girl._

_“She loves you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucy teases, grabbing his hand and leading him into the living room to get comfortable._

_“Sit, I’m just going to make the popcorn,” she gestures to the couch, setting her bag down on the chair._

_“I hope you like your popcorn blackened,” she can hear Amy whisper to him, a confused look passing over his face. “You’ll see.”_

_“I heard that,” Lucy calls back to the two of them._

xxxxx

As soon as their new cohorts, Bonnie and Clyde exit the car, Lucy’s bravado deflates from her chest, and she feels a rise of panic in her. She can see the same feeling pass through the dark blue of Wyatt’s eyes as she stares back at him in the car.

The danger of the situation, as they sat in 1934, not lost on either of them. Clyde was volatile, leaving them both to tread lightly around him, no sudden movements. The sneer across his lips reminding her that although charming, he was unpredictable, trigger happy, and suddenly in control of their fate.

“So we just grab the key around her neck and run, right?” Wyatt asks with an urgency to his voice that suggests he doesn’t want to spend one more single second with that couple than they need to. His guard is raised, leaving him fumbling with his words, because he was so focused on keeping them safe. That much she can discern.

Her eyes dart back and forth between Wyatt and the house before she opens her mouth to speak. Their mission had been clear: get the key and find out what it’s for. Somehow it had landed them playing house with the most notoriously dangerous couple in history.

“I think we need to talk to them first,” she suggests, leaving Wyatt with a gaping mouth, his counter argument on the tip of his tongue.

“They’re two killers, Lucy. What are we waitin’ for?” The smallest hint of a southern accent peeking out on certain words when he was concerned.

“Agent Christopher said we need to figure out what the key is for,” she explains, pleading eyes for him to understand her motivation, his jaw clenched, lips pursed, and a deadly stare out the window as she continues to speak. “We don’t know where they got it from or what it opens. If it’s that important to Flynn and Rittenhouse, shouldn’t we find out?”

“Fine,” he cuts her off, her logic outweighing the danger, and she leans back into her seat when he agrees. “But I’m not putting on a stage play for these two,” the wrinkling of his forehead forming lines of concern, each one a countable fear of the danger they were getting themselves into.

“No stage play, just…Lucy and Wyatt,” she agrees.

“And the first sign of trouble, we run,” he says, angling his head, his eyes wide, this term non-negotiable, using his finger to reiterate how serious he is.

“Okay,” she agrees. Satisfied, he moves back over on his side, turning away from her to move the car.

“We just have to grab the key before 9:00 a.m.,” she says in a soft voice, refusing to look at him, instead choosing to stare out the window with a solemn look.

She can see him wrangle in whatever he was feeling to turn back over to her.

“What’s 9:00 a.m.?” He asks with a sarcastic lilt and a grit to his teeth. He attempts to look pleasant, but comes off looking more annoyed and stressed than anything.

“That’s when one of Clyde’s crew members sells him out. He turns them over to this Ranger, the one we saw with Flynn, and they pump over 130 bullets into Bonnie and Clyde’s car…at 9:00 a.m.,” she explains matter-of-factly with a deep sigh, staring ahead.

Wyatt wears a shocked look, his mouth curved into something similar of a pout of irritation.

“Great. This just keeps getting better and better,” he sarcastically throws out, earning him a slight nod, and a raise of an eye at him. 

Neither of them thrilled at their prospects.

xxxxx

_“What movie are we watching?” Amy asks, hopping up from the couch to stack of movies they had lining the shelf._

_“Do you own every movie ever made?” Wyatt jokes, his forehead wrinkled in shock, his eyes wide._

_“All the good ones,” Lucy winks, coming up from behind them, leaning over the couch, her elbows on the back, her hands resting by Wyatt’s head._

_“And she watches the same ones over and over again,” Amy groans. “I hope you also like your movies in black and white too.”_

_“Attitude,” Lucy warns, and Amy rolls her eyes back at her._

_“Black and white movies, huh?” Wyatt asks with a raised brow._

_Lucy wants to blush, unlike most, she believes trivial details, like one’s favorite movie, to be more telling than people think._

_“They’re…timeless,” she shrugs._

_“Well, start one up. I used to watch black and white westerns all the time,” he shares, and Lucy smiles, nearly skipping over to another shelf than Amy, the stack of VHS tapes that she had saved for just such an occasion._

_Amy relinquishes her search, heading back over to the couch and plopping down on the opposite end of Wyatt._

_“I bet she picks…Casablanca…or The Philadelphia Story or….”_

_“It Happened One Night,” Lucy teases, holding up the correct tape._

_“Oh boy,” Amy feigns excitement, and Wyatt laughs at her. “Stick around long enough, and you’ll have seen them all five hundred times too.”_

_He leans over the couch like he has a secret._

_“I can only hope,” he winks. Lucy watches from her place on the floor, a sweet smile gracing her face at their exchange. Like…he belonged._

_Putting the tape in, she moves over to the couch, finding her place next to Wyatt, and wiggling until she was completely melded to his side._

_Amy grabs the remote._

_“Ready?”_

_“Yeah,” Lucy nods, her head coming to rest on Wyatt’s shoulder, a comfortable position she wasn’t unaccustomed to, but the newness of having a place there still leaving her giddy, safe._

_“What’s that smell?” Wyatt asks._

_“The popcorn!” Lucy yells, nearly kneeing him in the side as she jumps up to the kitchen._

_“Told you,” she hears Amy yell to Wyatt’s amusement._

xxxxx

She can feel the stress of Wyatt weighing on his posture, as Clyde continues to side-eyes them. She tries to play along for the both of them, but it was hard when the two of them continued to sit atop each other, and Wyatt sat stiffly to her left, barely looking at her.

A toast, causing her to choke on the hooch she couldn’t quite stomach, the first look from Wyatt a warning of sorts that if it wasn’t for Bonnie and Clyde’s general disregard for common courtesy of PDA they’d have long since blown their cover.

But if they were playing Lucy and Wyatt, it was the version of them that didn’t speak for years, because this was awkward.

She grits out a grin and continues to play along, staring squarely at the necklace hanging off of Bonnie’s neck, until the woman catches her, and bats her eyelashes.

“Oh, ya like it?” She asks with a devilish smile.

Finally, they were getting somewhere.

“I’ve just never seen anything like it. Where’d ya get it?” She asks in her best southern accent, and she swears, if they weren’t on danger’s doorstep, Wyatt would’ve laughed at her attempt.

“Clyde got it for me when we got engaged,” she explains, grabbing ahold of the key, staring with love in her eyes at the dangerous man across from them.

“You’re engaged?” Lucy treads lightly, wanting to dig for information, but not wanting to push them. Wyatt sitting quietly beside her, clenching down hard on his jaw, swirling the liquid in his glass around.

“Go on, tell it. You know you want to,” Clyde sighs, leading Bonnie to excitedly launch into her recount of how she got engaged.

When she announces that she’s already married, landing herself on Clyde’s lap, Lucy awkwardly straightens in her seat, stealing a glance at Wyatt, who seems to be debating his choices of escape as soon as they reveal what they need.

It only makes Lucy more nervous.

“You’re already married?” Wyatt pipes up for the first time since they sat down. Lucy bites back a smile at his affronted tone. But immediately regretting his question when it leads to them stealing kisses in front of them.

“I remember when we first met…” Lucy listens intently, fascinated by the love story playing out in front of her. Wyatt on the other hand continued to sip from his cup, looking as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

She remembers when she first met him, half asleep, feet up, acting as if he were definitely too good for whatever was about to take place. But then his blue eyes are met her’s and she’d felt like all the air had been knocked out of her. It wasn’t hard to believe that a love like Bonnie and Clyde’s existed…she’d had it…once…or so she thought. But sitting here now, she couldn’t help but get lost in the fiction of someone else’s story.

Leaning forward, her chin comes to rest on her hand, a far off look of what could’ve been playing on her face that she doesn’t even notice the way Wyatt’s eyes continue to flicker over to her whenever she takes a breath.

“That’s even better than I read about,” she whispers forlornly to herself, but loud enough that the whole table hears, Wyatt’s head slowly turning to glare at her, like he couldn’t believe she’d just said that.

“Like in the papers?” Clyde chimes in, confusion painting his face.

“Yeah,” she says with a panicked smile. “In the papers.”

Bonnie giggles.

“Oh, well stop the presses. Here, I’m going on and on,” she fans herself, the blush on her cheeks genuine. “How’d he do with you?”

Lucy stares dumbfounded at the couple, unsure of what they were talking about.

“Do what?”

“Propose, silly. I mean, look at that ring,” she points, and it’s only then that Lucy realizes that she hadn’t take off Noah’s engagement ring before they’d left. The large diamond sitting on her finger, sparkling in the dim light, insinuating to Bonnie, apparently, that Wyatt must have been the one to give her that ring.

If only she knew.

“I forgot,” she whispers to Wyatt, her voice carrying across the table, as she stares down at the culprit threatening to out them.

“You telling me you don’t remember something like that?” Clyde asks with skepticism, a sneer to his tone.

“‘Course I remember,” she says with a certainty that she hopes plays off with a smile. “I umm…” she starts, hesitating, unsure of what to say. Trying to recall the last romantic moment she had, one that she could summon to do for an engagement story, not even able to recall what Noah had told her about their’s.

Wyatt throws back the last of his drink next to her, and she fumbles again.

“It was uhh—“

“I had wanted to take her back to my hometown in West Texas,” Wyatt interrupts her, her head whipping to the man who’d vowed he didn’t want to put on a stage play. “I’d surprised her at school” he says with a shy smile. “She had been so excited to see me she nearly tackled me in a hug,” Lucy lets out a choked laugh. “I’d had it all planned, I’d take her away for a couple of days, propose to her under the tree we’d had our first kiss.”

“Oh wow, that must have been something,” Bonnie swoons from across the table. Lucy looks over with tears in her own eyes, unsure of how to answer, instead answering with a soft smile, beckoning Wyatt to continue.

“But uhh,” and he pauses, her brow furrowing, as she hangs onto his every word, lost in thought, her heart racing in her chest. “I was sitting next to her in the car, and I just…I knew I couldn’t wait, so I pull out the ring, and I’m so nervous, I drop between the seats. She has no idea what I dropped, so she pulls over, and she gets out to help me look. We’re by a river, it’s almost sunset, and I just get down on one knee with no ring, and before I can even get a word out, she kneels down with me, grabs onto me, and says, ‘Yes.’ Like she always knew. And then she gave me a kiss that rivaled that first one under the tree,” he finishes, his eyes red, wet with tears threatening to stream down his face. A sad smile playing on his lips. 

“You remember that, honey?” He asks, looking at her for the first time since he’d began his tale. She stares at him, frozen, the memory of an event that never happened viscerally floating across her peripheral. The almost so close, yet so far, and she looks at him in tears, the emotion behind his words not untrue. The facts were fudged, but the feelings were real.

“Y…yeah,” she stutters with a smile, rendering everyone around the table quiet, contemplative as they take in the story. Lucy’s staring down at the table, the imposter ring staring back. She doesn’t even know what’s happening until his hand is resting on her neck, her lips suddenly pressed up against his own.

Her hand instinctively finds its way to his cheek, like it never left, the prickle of stubble against her fingertips leaves her tingling. The whiplash of the past demanding it be felt rips through her like a trip through time. His lips are soft, urgent in their insistence, fearful that this will all end soon.

There hadn’t been an engagement, not a kiss, instead a gaping wound of heartbreak had been delivered. One in which she was never able to heal properly, years spent trying to mend herself, only to be flung into the same space as the one man who had both managed to save her in every way he could, yet destroy her in one fell swoop.

But here, in this moment, the curvature of their lips melding together threatens to rewrite history with one flick of the tongue.

And then it’s over, a gentle reminder that they have an audience barely registering as they slowly separate, a knowing look passing between them both. Neither of their hands moving from the other, needing the touch of one another to ground them to reality. Her thumb gently strokes his cheek, a silent twitch of his eye flitters away the regret, leaving him only breathless with indecision over what this was. Her eyes reflect a hope of what could’ve been cast in her irises.

“Hot damn. I guess you found the ring,” Bonnie laughs, staring at them just as Lucy had been at them, recognizing love when they see it.

“To true love,” Clyde toasts, and Lucy tosses back the entirety of her glass, this time needing the burn down her throat to get through the rest of the night after that kiss.

xxxxx

**_“I wish you’d take those things off the walls of Jericho.”_ **

_Lucy sits tangled around Wyatt, her head resting on his chest, the gentle rise and fall lulling her into a hazy state of mellow, his fingers tangled in her hair, massaging her head._

_The burnt bowl of popcorn sits in his lap, and her hand rests just above on his stomach, hugging him close._

_His free hand moves to take a piece of the popcorn into his mouth._

_“You know you don’t have to eat that,” she sighs._

_“It’s fine,” he lies, and she knows it._

_“I was never one for cooking,” she laughs into him._

_“I don’t think popcorn in the microwave counts as cooking,” he murmurs into her hair, a gentle kiss finding its way in place of words._

_“You should me try to make a sandwich,” she jokes, and he laughs into her._

_“Better leave the cooking to me,” he whispers._

_“You can cook?” Her shocked face staring up at him. “Wow, you just became ten times more attractive.”_

_“Is that so?” He taps his fingers against her._

_“Mhmm,” she hums into him, moving her head back to its position._

xxxxx

Sitting on the couch, Lucy finds herself clinging to the arm, while Wyatt sits a good width away from her. The contrast between them and Bonnie and Clyde, who sit cuddled up on a tiny bed is jarring. One that Wyatt must notice, because before long, he’s awkwardly reaching for her, lowering her down until she’s resting uncomfortably in his lap.

Her arms flail, unsure of where to put them, the easiness with which she once used to lay all over him now long gone, her body a shattered piece of glass that had been put back together as best she could, but there were edges now, ones that she wasn’t sure would fit into the grooves she’d oncee laid track on over Wyatt.

His hand settles on her thigh, the warmth radiating through her dress, leaving her swallowing her tongue at the movement. She can feel his hand shake a bit, uncertain if it was okay, until her hand settles atop of his, stilling the tremor.

“You ever get that feeling that you know what’s gonna happen next?” Bonnie asks, and Lucy instinctively finds herself look at Wyatt, at the same time he looks down at her. A knowing look passes between them, because for as much as they couldn’t predict the future in the past, they found themselves falling into old habits more often than not as they continued to travel together, almost as if paralleled to their life before.

“Yeah, a lot lately,” Wyatt admits.

“We just don’t think we have that much time left together,” Bonnie admits with clarity.

“You don’t know that,” Lucy offers, wanting to believe that love can sustain them, but she can feel the eyes of Wyatt on her, begging to differ.

“Oh it’s all right. You know as long as we can go out together,” she offers, as if that were some kind of solace, Clyde continuing to spin his gun around like a toy. “That’s all that matters.”

The reminder that danger was looming, never more present.

“Hey, um, Clyde, where’d you get that necklace? I’d like to get one just like it for my…baby doll…face,” he awkwardly finishes, patting her leg, bringing a forced smile to her face.

“You can’t. It’s unique,” he wanes, pointing his gun as if someone were in front of him.

“Unique?” Wyatt stresses, trying to get the information they need so they can leave.

Lucy tries to encourage the exchange along, eventually getting from them that they’d robbed it from Henry Ford. Lucy tries to pay attention, as they explain the letter sent, but Wyatt’s fingers are trickling down her neck in a nervous twitch that leaves her counting the taps.

“Can I see it?” She chokes out, her eyes closing at the pat of his hand on her leg, as she gets up to inspect the key. His hand landing on the small of her back.

“It’s solid gold. Heavy,” Bonnie explains, impressed with Clyde’s find.

“Now what does that unlock?” Wyatt asks, following the checklist of questions he needed because they could check their way outta there.

“Not any lock we’ve ever picked,” Wyatt nods, frustrated. “And look, there’s all this funny writing on it, but no idea what it means.”

Lucy spins the key around, bringing it closer to her face. She recognizes the words.

“It’s latin,” she states, turning around to face Wyatt as Clyde rambles on, a look shared between them that suggests they’re in over their heads.

“Wanna help me in the kitchen, sweetheart?” She asks, patting his leg, and leading the way.

Wyatt follows and soon they’re as alone as they have been since entering. She knows her voice carries, but she doubts they’ll hear her given how drunk they are.

Pretending to fiddle around in the sink, Wyatt approaches her, almost hunched over with determination.

“Henry Ford? He’s part of Rittenhouse? How far back do these dicks go?” Lucy leans against the sink, the counter presetting into her hips. 

“The Latin on the key says, “They Key to the Beginning of All Time” and “The Key To the End of All Time,” she recites with a dip of her head a the irony of it all.

“Great, that’s not disturbing at all,” Wyatt jokes, glancing back at the shattering of glass and a thunderous laugh coming from the two in bed. “How much longer until they’re ambushed?”

“Eleven hours, I think,” she guess, not having a clock available to them.

“I don’t like the way Clyde’s twirling that gun,” he says, eyeing her as another crash happens. “They’re drunk. They’ll pass out soon, and as soon as they do, we grab the key and get the hell outta here,” he nearly begs, lowering his head to eye level.

She nods, not wanting to be there when they’re ambushed anymore than he does.

“Agreed.”

xxxxx

_“Amy didn’t last long,” he gestures with his chin to the sleeping girl on the end of the couch._

_“She’s not a big fan of the classics,” she shrugs._

_“Why are you?” He asks, curiously. And she hesitates, having never really been asked that before._

_“I don’t know. I guess…I like the idea that despite the times changing, it’s always the same when it comes to love. That two strangers can meet and fall in love even when everything and everyone is against them,” she softly explains, burying her nose in his shirt. “That’s stupid, right?”_

_“No,” he sighs. “Not stupid at all.”_

_He pulls her a little closer, and she breathes him in, the only lights in the house the soft glow of the television, illuminating the two of them in black and white._

_“So how does it end?” Wyatt asks. “Do they actually get married or do they just pretend to be?”_

_Lucy grabs at his shirt, hiding her smile._

_“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”_

xxxxx

The squeaking of the bed next to them sends her nerves bouncing off the wall every single time it makes a noise.

Wyatt lay stiff as a board next to her, not wanting to touch her and cross some sort of line, but unable to keep from rubbing up against her due to the size of the actual bed. Nothing but a thin sheet hangs between them and the couple going at it on the other side.

To say things were uncomfortable might be an understatement.

When they’d been presented with the bed, the sheet pulled closed, only to have Clyde peek over the edge, she’d visibly shivered at the proximity she was to them, let alone how close she would soon be to a man she hadn’t shared a bed with in years.

As she’d undressed, stripping down to nothing but the slip that was hidden underneath her dress, she’d peeked over her shoulder to find Wyatt with his back to her, having shed his shirt, his bare arms flexing as he went to remove his pants, and Lucy found herself watching before the sight of blue caught her, and she quickly looked back towards the sheet.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he had quietly whispered, and she’d jerked her head “no” far quicker than he had had expected, causing a small laugh.

“We have to be believable,” she’d whispered back, yanking back the sheet of the small bed and its one pillow.

As they’d maneuvered into the small space, trying to keep their limbs from tangling, and bordering on rolling off the edge in attempting to keep some space between them. Finally admitting defeat with her arm buried beneath his.

“I thought you said they’d pass out,” she teases, his eyes refusing to move anywhere but straight up at the ceiling.

“Maybe if they ever came up for air,” he says with such an air of seriousness, she can’t help but smile. “This wall of Jericho isn’t doing much.”

Lucy smiles at the reference.

“Can you believe the way they are together?” Her question earning a heavy exhale from him.

“Yeah, they might be robbers and killers, but you can’t say they aren’t in love,” his statement seeming to ease her nerves, and she moves, yanking her arm from under his, disrupting his rigid posture and relieving him of some the stress.

In her movement, essentially moving herself closer to him, and he flinches, as if as unsure as she is about what’s happening right now.

“No,” she shakes her head. “I mean all the ‘meant to be’s’ and ‘only ones.’”

His hand comes up to rub at his eyes.

“What about it? We used to be like that,” he hesitantly states.

“Yeah, and look how that ended. I’m just saying, there’s a couple billion people in the world, and they’re the only ones for each other?” She asks, but her question is loaded, and she knows he knows it. She looks over at him, refusing to give an inch. “What are the odds?”

“The Lucy I know believes in fate and destiny,” he tries, nudging her slightly with his arm.

“Not when it comes to love,” she admits with a sigh. “Attraction, chemistry, sure…but meant to be? No.”

“I do,” he admits, and she finds herself shifting in the bed, moving to her side so she’s able to see him. Her head resting in the crook of her elbow.

“That engagement story you told…Wyatt,” she hesitates in asking, not sure if she wanted to know the real answer.

“That’s how I was going to propose…to you,” he admits, the memory still fresh from dredging it up earlier, his eyes closing at the mention, the tears shared between them as they thought of what actually happened that weekend.

“Wyatt…” she breathes, a reflex she’d never been able to shed.

“But it didn’t happen—“

“Because of Jessica,” Lucy offers an explanation, the only one she’d had to cling to all those years. “We never made it.”

“This Lucy and Wyatt did.” His answer leading her to believe he’s holding something back, the missing piece to the truth that had never made one lick of sense to her.

“So what happens when you lose the one person you’re meant to be with?” She asks, holding her breath at what his response would be.

“Then they weren’t who you were meant to be with,” he says, a lump his throat causing him to choke back his voice, coming out strained, the realization dawning on both of them.

“I think,” she breathes, her free arm coming to rest on his forearm. “That maybe we…anyone, should be open to the possibility of more.”

That seems to catch his attention, and he turns his head, leaving nothing but a wisp of breath between them on the same pillow. His blue eyes swim with indecision, clearing in their choice, his mouth signaled to continue.

“Like the possibility of a second chance?” He wonders aloud, and she can’t help question whether he was right. That if there was only one person for another, maybe Wyatt was still her’s, and fate had just facilitated a necessary detour before reuniting them. 

Her eyelashes flutter against her, staring at the mouth of a man who had whispered words as sweet as wine against her only to lay poison to her heart just as swiftly. But as she lay there, his eyes so full of a love she thought she once knew, she can taste that same truth on her lips from earlier.

“I think—“ only for a snore from Clyde to break out amongst them.

“They’re asleep,” Wyatt announces, quickly getting up from the bed, leaving Lucy to lay in confusion of whether he didn’t want her answer or the need to get out of there was ever present.

Their awkward dance of unrobing now play in reverse, slipping her dress back on over her head, with their backs facing each other, offering a privilege of privacy neither of them were sure they still wanted.

xxxxx

_“I had fun,” Wyatt says, as they stand at her doorstep._

_“Are you sure you don’t need a ride home? It’s late,” Lucy asks, glancing over at the night sky._

_“Nah, I could use the walk,” he shrugs, before taking her hand in his, and she swears she can feel her heartbeat pulsing in her palm against him._

_“Sorry you have to leave so soon, but—“_

_“Lucy, it’s fine. I get it,” he assures her, his hand finding its place on her neck, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek, leaving a trail of blush in his wake._

_She ducks her head, her curls casting a veil around her face._

_“So what’d you think about the movie?” She asks with a teasing glint, not expecting him to have actually enjoyed it._

_“It was a happy ending,” he states. “They finally lets their walls down.”_

_“Do you think that can actually happen?” She asks, her big brown eyes moving to stare up at him with a hope she can’t help but feel when she’s around him._

_He lowers his head until his lips hover over her’s, the next words he speaks a mere whisper, gently dancing across the smile she’d spread across his expression._

_“It’s possible…”_

xxxxx

Carefully, Lucy pulls her locket out from underneath her sweater, having just gotten changed back into her clothes. Happy to have shed the pink dress from a long, exhausting day that had ended in tragedy.

Her fingers dance around the edge of the locket, the same way that Bonnie had held the key, delicate in touch, a token of love dangling from her neck. The last thing Bonnie had of Clyde as she clung to his lifeless body. 

Lucy’s hand grasps onto the locket, squeezing it tightly at the thought.

“Hey,” Wyatt breaks her out of her reverie.

“Oh, hey,” she greets back, dropping the locket to stand awkwardly with him. Now that the present danger had subsided, they were left with nothing but the words, and a kiss, that they had shared. It was a truth that threatened to eat them both alive, rendering them speechless.

Both holding up their wardrobe with a laugh that indicated neither of them really found anything funny.

“So you were right,” Wyatt says, nudging her a bit with his arm.

“About what?” She asks with a squint of her eye in a knowing way, suggesting she was right about a lot of things.

“Rufus and Jiya,” he teases, referencing their earlier discovery and text conversation. “It happened…”

“One night,” and she laughs at her own joke,. “I told you I know love when I see it,” she counters with a nod, and he smiles back at her.

“Hey, about that kiss back there, uhh, you know, it in was the moment, and Clyde seemed like he was…you know, so I had to make it look real,” he explains, to a furrowed brow of Lucy.

“No, right, of course. It was smart,” she plays along. “We had to get the key—“

“I was just playing a role.”

“I thought we were just Lucy and Wyatt?” That stops him, and he fumbles with his words.

“From…before.”

She nods.

“Right. From before. Well, it worked.”

“Anyway, sorry if it took you by surprise,” he apologizes, and Lucy pretends to be busy putting away her dress.

“I’ll live,” she says with a roll of her eyes, leading to a crooked grin that’s immediately mirrored by his own.

There’s more to say. Both of their mouths hovering open waiting for the right words to slip from their tongue. But they remain silent, only to be interrupted by someone offering to free them of their hangers.

“Well,” Wyatt starts, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see you later…baby doll,” he adds, recalling the term of endearment he’d made up on the spot.

She laughs at his attempt of a pet name, having never stuck back in the day.

“See ya around, schweeetheart,” she lisps in Transatlantic accent from the Old Hollywood days, all black and white films she made him watch. It gives them both a genuine smile, a quiet laugh at the way things had been, a promise perhaps of what they could be.

And as they turn to leave, she can’t help but feel like she’s walking away from something she should’ve fought harder for, the gaping hole in her chest pulsing with the same hurt she had been carrying around for years, and she wonders if he feels the same.


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey, can you hand me…” Wyatt sticks his hand out from underneath her car, and she pauses, mid-bite, her mouth full of the burrito she’d just bitten into.

“You’re eating aren’t you?” He calls out, and she quickly tries to chew, before giving up and just answering.

“No,” she says, but the word comes out garbled with her full mouth.

Sliding out from underneath the car, his shirt clings to every muscle, particularly his arms, accentuating their girth.

“I thought you were going to wait until I finished, you know, doing you a favor and changing your oil,” he claims, trying to use a stern voice, but cracks at the end into a laugh.

Quickly swallowing, she licks her lips, claiming it was for the crumbs lingering, but in truth an involuntary reaction to the attractively disheveled man in front of her.

“I didn’t ask, you volunteered,” she raises a brow, daring him to disagree with her. It was the only time they knew her mom would be away from the house.

Grabbing the beer sitting in the driveway, he takes a swig, before pushing his hair back.

“Next time, extra cilantro on your burrito,” he points with his bottle, and she scrunches her face.

“You wouldn’t,” she narrows he eyes teasingly.

“You’re right, I’d never hear the end of it,” he shrugs, until she holds out her burrito to him, and he takes a bite, before shaking his head back in forth in contemplation.

“Mine’s better,” he goads with a dimpled grin.

“They could barely close yours. One bite and it’s going to spill right onto your lap,” she jokes, right as her phone rings.

“Don’t mock the perfection of my burrito,” he jokes, before grabbing what he needed and heading back underneath the car.

Rolling her eyes at him as she answers, she expect to be called into work when she saw Agent Christopher’s name pop up.

She’s surprised to find that’s not the case after hanging up. Kneeling down by her car, her hand lightly lands on Wyatt’s knee, trying not to scare him into hitting his head.

“So how do you feel about coming to dinner with me at Agent Christopher’s tonight?”

xxxxx

_“Ugh, I don’t get it,” Amy says, groaning loudly. “Can’t we order pizza already? I have to leave soon,” she huffs at Lucy._

_“This is supposed to be fun,” Lucy laughs, standing on a ladder, a near feat in itself that she hadn’t lost her balance. The two of them had been decorating the house since getting home from school. They were officially on winter break. And after having gone out of town for Thanksgiving, she was looking forward to an open schedule the next few weeks of nothing but spending time with her sister and her boyfriend._

_“I check them and then they go out as soon as I put them up,” Amy says, matter of factly, and Lucy bites her lip to keep from laughing at her younger sister. “Why can’t we just toss them up like normal people?”_

_“Because we want them to look good?” Lucy tries, placing each strand perfectly spaced as she winds them around the tree._

_“But why can’t we use the colored lights? It looks so much better than the white,” she continues to argue._

_“She’s got a point,” Lucy hears, whipping around quickly, nearly tumbling off the ladder, before catching her balance, but losing the Santa hat she was wearing. The red garment falling to the floor._

xxxxx

Lucy wasn’t unaccustomed to awkward dinners. She’d become an expert on them over the years with her mother. But tonight felt different.

Quietly, she eats her food, making sure to chew each bite for as long as she could before swallowing. The dark eyes of Agent Christopher seemingly watching her every move from across the table.

Quickly averting her eyes, she goes back to cutting into her chicken. She wasn’t even really that hungry, having just eaten a little while ago, but it keeps her distracted, so she shoves another piece into her mouth.

“How are they?” Agent Christopher asks, her wife walking back into the room.

“Olivia’s conked out, and I just busted Mark for playing that crazy violent video game again,” a knowing tilt of the woman’s head suggesting there wasn’t much she could do.

“Thank you for having us,” Lucy chides in. “A home cooked meal is a rare and exotic thing in my life these days,” she admits with a smile.

Wyatt nearly snorts with laughter, and she moves to kick him underneath the table, her leg just missing, having been too short to reach him.

Lucy shoots him a look, and he doesn’t even have the decency to wipe the grin off his face.

“Believe me, it was my pleasure,” she laments, and Lucy’s eyes shift back over to Wyatt, the glint of curiosity refusing to leave from his smirk. “So how long have you two been together?”

A sharp cough shoots out of Lucy’s mouth, choking on her chicken at the question. Wyatt’s hands come to rest on his chin, waiting for her answer, amusement playing on his lips.

“We’re not…we’re not…together. We’re just…colleagues,” Lucy clarifies. For a brief second, she swears she can see the hope falter in Wyatt’s eyes, but just as quickly they recover, landing on Michelle with a raised brow.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just…I assumed…”

Lucy waves her hand nervously, not wanting to embarrass the woman. 

“So you’re a professor?” She asks, the curiosity of her guests spoken in awkwardness to them with a change of subject.

“The history and anthropology of American political movements,” Lucy proudly admits with a sway of her head, like it was a burden of sorts, tucking her hands into her lap.

“She writes books on them too,” Wyatt throws out with another bite of his food, a proud grin on his face leaving Lucy to heavily sigh.

A knowing smile seems to pass over Michelle’s face.

“Well, that alone makes you the most interesting colleague of Denise’s I’ve ever met,” she admits with a laugh. Wyatt soon joining in. “You two are also the only colleagues I’ve ever met.”

“Ignore her. She’s teasing me,” Agent Christopher jokes, the first smile she’d seen from the woman…ever, maybe. She was always so serious whenever they were on missions. It was different to see her in a setting like this - comfortable, laid back, wife and kids.

“I know how that goes,” she not so subtly gestures towards Wyatt.

“Seventeen years, nada,” she goes on, the tone teasing with an underlying tension, the type that only secrets between significant others could spark. Lucy also knew how that went.

“Michelle,” Denise nervously teases, taking a sip of her wine.

“Hey, I don’t ask questions. And knowing what she does, I don’t want to ask. But out of the blue, it’s ‘Make the mustard chicken, Lucy Preston’s coming over.’”

Picking up her wine glass, she swirls the liquid around, a quirk in her smile.

“To be honest, it came as a shock to me, as well,” she shyly admits, sending Michelle’s glance towards Denise.

“Hence me here,” Wyatt says, breaking the tension, downing his own drink.

xxxxx

_Rushing over, Wyatt picks up her hat, grabbing onto her arm to steady her._

_“You okay?” He asks, checking over her, and Lucy can feel her cheeks heat with a blush, following his blue eyes with her own as they flutter over her._

_She nods, not making a sound, just a goofy grin on her face._

_He carefully places the hat back on her head, his fingers never refusing a moment to get lost her curls._

_“But more importantly, Wyatt agrees with me,” Amy chides in, causing Lucy’s lip to once again be tucked between her teeth, breaking the moment._

_She raises a brow, waiting for his answer._

_“I mean…they both…look nice,” he tries._

_“Nice save,” Lucy says, turning back to the tree._

_“What color do you put up?” Amy asks, and when they’re met with silence, she turns back to find Wyatt staring down at the floor, almost like the question had rendered him frozen._

_“Hello, Wyatt,” Amy chides, tossing a piece of garland at his face, shaking him out of his reverie._

_“My mom always liked the colored ones,” he whispers. “But white’s good too, looks like snow.”_

_“I guess,” Amy concedes, causing Wyatt to smile, but Lucy continues staring at him, having never mentioned his mom before, she finds herself curious, but knowing his family is always a topic he tends to avoid, she decides to let it go._

_“So pizza?”_

xxxxx

The water runs, slicing the silence with its noise, washing the dishes from their dinner clean.

Lucy maneuvers around the table, collecting cloth napkins, attempting to help clear the table. She felt it was the least she could do, the confusion still playing on her mind of why she had been asked to this impromptu dinner.

“Your family is lovely,” she tries, edging into the topic of why she was here, dancing around with pleasantries, although sincere, still just that, sidesteps. “Wyatt and Mark seemed to really hit it off,” she teases, knowing full well that he was upstairs playing that video game with him right now.

“Thanks,” Denise says with a laugh, drying the plates, distracted. “I wanted you to meet them,” her tone taking on a more serious note.

“But your wife does have a point,” she fidgets with the napkin before finally setting it down, letting her hands flop back to her side. “Why did you invite me over?”

Her words cut to the chase, having been curious about the strange invite since she’d called earlier that day.

Leaning heavily against the counter, Denise sways.

“I’ve been up most nights lately worrying,” she admits.

Lucy’s face tightens, the idea of their lives hanging in the balance not something new, but still something they worried about the deeper they got.

“I know Rufus told you about Rittenhouse—“

“Rittenhouse?” Denise interrupts her. “Yeah, that’s part of it. And I’m looking into it, believe me. But what’s really been keeping me awake is your mother.”

She can feel her heart jump at the mention. Her mother had always been a point of contention with her, dissipating into reverence more so than before when she got sick. But now that she was well, she felt the cord cut, a little more freedom every time she stepped into that Lifeboat. She wanted nothing more than for her mom to understand what had happened - that she had another daughter, that they were a family. But it sounded insane even to her sometimes.

“My mother?” She asks, scared of what the next part of this explanation would be.

“As hard as it must be for you to remember your sister, what’s worse for me is that your mother doesn’t.” The worry is written on her forehead, the concern in her voice. “She has a daughter she doesn’t even know existed.”

Lucy can feel the wound opening up, tearing away from the stitches she’d so carefully laid upon herself, a strangled scream settling in her throat.

“Before the time machine, my worst fear was losing them. And now it’s that I could lose them and never know they were here,” she solemnly confesses. “I get it, Lucy. The pressure you must feel to keep history in tact so more people aren’t just…erased.”

It’s a pressure that Lucy tries not to carry around with her, but with each mission, the weight becomes just a little heavier on her shoulders. She’d already lost Amy. The idea of something that she did or something she couldn’t prevent erasing someone’s child absolutely terrified her.

“I want you to do me a favor,” Denise asks, digging into her pocket. “Keep this in the Lifeboat for me,” she hands over a flash drive.

Lucy hesitantly reaches out to take it.

“What is it?”

“It’s them,” she simply says, realization passing over Lucy’s face. “Pictures, photographs, kindergarten art. It’s our life in a disk. It’s my locket.”

Lucy unconsciously reaches for the locket, the only tangible evidence that Amy existed, that that part of her life existed at all. Her fist wrapping around the necklace, refusing to let go of her past.

“If you come back someday and they are gone…promise you’ll show it to me and tell me everything about tonight. I need to know they existed,” she finishes, her voice choking on the last word.

Lucy can feel the tears sting her eyes, every memory of the two in her own locket beating against her palm, having long since sunk into her skin, weaving into her being, only she able to recall their existence.

“Yeah,” she nods with a half grin. “I will.”

xxxxx

_“I can’t believe you eat those,” Wyatt makes a face at Lucy as she shoves a mushroom that had fallen onto her plate into her mouth._

_“They’re good,” she says with a scrunch of her nose, not at all apologizing for her taste in food._

_“They’re slimy,” he says with a shake of his face, a laugh attached as she continues to inhale her food._

_“And think, you kiss that same mouth,” Amy teases, eating a slice of her plain cheese pizza._

_Lucy lets out a boisterous laugh at that, a blush accompanying the noise. Wyatt had been spending quite a bit of time at the house. Always carefully planned so that he never actually ran into her mom. It wasn’t hard since she had night classes and stayed late often, but it soon to be made more difficult with the semester coming to an end._

_Wyatt sticks his tongue out at Amy, and she rolls her eyes at him. Lucy smiles to herself, the two of them bickering like they’d known each other forever giving her a feeling that maybe Wyatt was always meant to be here._

_“What?” Wyatt asks, turning back to her, a goofy grin on his face, like he’d just caught her staring at a future they didn’t know they had._

_“Nothing,” she says jutting out her chin with a closed smile so big it closed her eyes, peeking out her dimples. He doesn’t even have to steal a kiss, Lucy more than willing to give him one._

_“You guys are even more gross than mushrooms,” Amy says, only half teasing, causing Wyatt to duck his head in laughter._

_And Lucy takes another big bite of her pizza._

xxxxx

She’d found Wyatt upstairs, having followed the glow of the television screen, animatedly playing a video game with Denise’s son. She hadn’t seen him this carefree in a long time. He usually had a worry line, one he might as well name Lucy, because if he wasn’t stressing during a mission, he was cryptically keeping her at bay during their downtime.

Leaning against the doorframe, she doesn’t want to intrude, but he has this lightness about him, his smile not quite the one he gives to her when she’s said something he likes, but close. He was having fun. She hadn’t seen it in years. The way his tongue stuck to the corner of his mouth when he was concentrating, the way his knee would bounce in nervous excitement, the dimples displayed in all their glory.

“Shit, busted,” he’d said, turning around to find her watching.

Lucy raised her brow at him cussing in front of a kid.

“Don’t tell your mom,” he’d pleaded with a quirk of his lips.

Lucy stifled a laugh, Mark clearly old enough that that’s not an issue, but finding it cute that Wyatt was worried.

Looking over at him in the passenger seat, she can see him staring ahead, deep in thought. That carefree Wyatt she’d seen was gone, replaced with the one that seemed to carry the world on his shoulders.

“So what did Agent Christopher want?” He asks, breaking their silence.

Lucy’s grip on the wheel becomes just a tad tight, shifting in her seat, sending his eyes towards her.

“She wanted her own locket,” she grins, and she doesn’t miss his eyes moving down her to where her own locket sat resting against her, ever so slightly jostling with her movements.

“I mean, she seems nice and all, but I’m not sure how Michelle would feel about that,” he ribs her, causing a small laugh and a shake of her head. When the silence settles, he almost whispers, “I can’t believe you kept it,” with an almost self-deprecating look.

“Yeah, well, I thought about throwing it at your head a few times,” she says with a teasing grin.

He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a grunt.

Silence engulfing them once again.

“Why didn’t you?” He finally asks, curiosity apparently getting the better of him tonight, as well.

Lucy finds her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, her thoughts scattered, but one memory pervades.

“I needed to know we were real.”

xxxxx

_“Amy, what are you doing?” Lucy yells from the couch, having settled down to watch television._

_“You’ll see,” she yells back, and Lucy leans back into Wyatt’s arm, playing with the fringe of the blanket she had wrapped around them._

_“What is this?” He asks, laughing at the screen._

_“Wait,” she leans forward, her hand landing on his thigh. “You’ve never seen Friends?”_

_“I’m scared to say no,” he teases, his eyes dancing with the kaleidoscope of the images reflecting in blue, the glow of the lights they’d hung around the living room turned on._

_“Okay, that’s what we’re doing this break, catching you up into this decade,” she teases. “That is the holiday armadillo,” she says matter of factly, and he looks at her with the most adorably confused face, until they’re both cracking up at each other._

_“Lucy, my ride’s here,” she hears Amy yell, as she skips into the living room._

_“Okay, call if you need anything,” Lucy yells back, before Amy’s head peeks around._

_“Bye…” she practically sings. “Be good,” she says with a wink._

_“Oh my god, LEAVE,” Lucy says, tossing a pillow at her head, that has Wyatt laughing, Lucy’s blushing face burying in his shoulder._

xxxxx

“Where’s the real Austin Roe?” She asks, her patience wearing thin, as she trails her team and Flynn into a more private room, a long wooden table extending throughout.

She’d gone from awe at her location, a bit struck by the situation she’d found herself in, sequestered into a room by George Washington. The threat of eliminating another piece of history, of changing their world so dramatically with the death of what would become the first president of their country enough to beg Wyatt to put his gun down. To let Flynn get his way, play along with his ruse.

“Dead in a ditch,” he admits, and she can’t even act surprised.

“You’re a bastard,” she says matter-of-factly, no one willing or able to argue otherwise.

“What is all this, Flynn?” Wyatt demands, and she knows he’s not in the least willing to play his game, to put any of them in danger of being betrayed like their own Benedict Arnold.

“I need Lucy,” Flynn confesses, walking closer, and she can’t help but unconsciously find herself stepping closer to Wyatt, hoping he didn’t come across to their side of the table. Her eyes buried somewhere deep in the pocket of Wyatt’s safety. “She’ll know how to find Arnold. She knows everything about him,” and she swears it almost sounds like praise.

“Why?” Wyatt grits out, becoming more frustrated with each word. “So you can help him?”

The question was loaded, Flynn admitting to doing what he seemed to do best, beating the hell out of a man to get what he wanted.

Tossing the scrolled note from the key Bonnie and Clyde had, she can’t control the slight shiver or the shift of her eyes towards Wyatt, his own pairs of blues meeting her’s at the mention of what had happened with the pair of thieves.

They still held the possibilities of that night on the tip of their tongue.

“Read it,” Flynn demands, Lucy slowly opening the parchment.

“It’s a letter Benedict wrote to his wife. It says something about a Rittenhouse meeting,” her words sinking in to everyone in the room. “Are you saying Benedict Arnold was a member of Rittenhouse?”

“He wasn’t just a member. He was a founding member. This is the year it began. We’re gonna kill Rittenhouse in the crib. We’re gonna stop them before they ever get started,” Flynn says with such conviction, like he can see the outcome of the future if this were a success. 

Lucy can’t say that the idea doesn’t intrigue her, the chance to go home and have Amy waiting for her.

“You’re going to hunt these people down and you want us to help you?” The question coming out sounding as far fetched as this day was becoming.

Rufus argues against the subject only spurring Flynn’s frustration until he shares a deal.

“I’ll make this easy,” he practically seethes, before straightening. “You help me here, now, and I’ll hand over the keys to the Mothership, all yours,” he offers.

The deal sounds too good to be true, except that it will literally do exactly what Agent Christopher and her had discussed earlier - change history in a way that could erase even more people, their family and loved ones, in ways they couldn’t possibly imagine.

The suggestion of this possibility not going over well with Flynn, instead urging him to threaten to continue this chase, with a hundred more trips, changing history as they go. 

“We can end this, Lucy, now,” he bangs on the table with his fist, causing her to flinch, as he soothingly whispers at her in a strained tone. She stares at him, trying to examine why he wants this so badly, if the risk is really worth it.

She glances over at Wyatt, his eyes narrowed, his fingers flexing, attempting not to form into fists.

Leaning back, Flynn yanks out the journal, the one he’d been taunting her with since the beginning. Wth a raise of his brow, he rips out several pages, handing them over as a sign of goodwill, letting her read how bad Rittenhouse was in her own words…or so he claimed.

“You’re so full of crap, it’s coming out of your ears,” Wyatt mutters at him, as Lucy snatches the pages from Flynn’s hand, scanning over the handwriting that looked identical to her own. “We’re not going to help you. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

It’s as if they had stepped right into his trap, Flynn having anticipated that that’s exactly how Wyatt would react. And Lucy can’t help but wonder how much is said in this journal. If it really was her future self, did Flynn know everything?

“I figured you’d say that, so I’m sweetening the pot. You help me, and I’ll tell you the name of the doctor.”

Wyatt’s mouth hangs open in shock. Flynn having rendered him speechless, over what, she’s unsure. Staring at Wyatt, another secret, one that apparently meant more to him than she ever did, has her ducking her head back to the pages she was holding. Her lip finding its way between her teeth.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wyatt accuses, teeth gritted, and a determined look on his face now, in place of what was once shock.

“Don’t I?” He claims, waving the journal like it held all the secrets of the universe. “You looked for him, nothing came up, like he didn’t exist. He does,” he says with a conspiratorial smile, and Lucy looks between Wyatt and Flynn, trying to decipher the cryptic conversation they seemed to be having - one in which her future self apparently knew all about.

The deal out in the open, the promise of all of this ending if they only helped Flynn.

And before she knows it, they’re running right into the camp of the enemy.

xxxxx

_Standing in the kitchen, she looks up to see the time, waiting for their hot chocolate to be done. One of the few things she could make without burning, if it was in the microwave._

_“You need any help?” Wyatt’s blue eyes piercing through her, leaning against the island across from her._

_“Nope, I haven’t burned the place down…yet,” she teases, and he nods in a way that makes her stomach flip._

_Straightening, he moves to her side of the island, his back now against the hard granite, arms extended, reaching towards her to bring her into him._

_Her hips meet his with a soft laugh, her hands landing on his chest to steady herself. His fingers settle on the skin flirting with the air between her jeans and sweater._

_His eyes keep wandering, causing her brow to furrow trying to figure out what he’s doing._

_Slipping his fingers into the belt loops of her jeans, he moves her ever so slightly to the right._

_“What are you doing?” She laughs, his eyes gesturing up for her to look. A sprig of mistletoe hanging above them._

_“You did this?” She asks, surprise tinting her voice, her arms moving to wrap around his neck, bringing them closer._

_“Your sister,” he grins. “With my suggestion…”_

_“I think that’s against the rules,” she chides, barely hitting his lips with her finger._

_He brings his face ever so close to her own, his words whispering across her lips._

_“I think we’re already breaking a few rules—“ His words barely escaping his mouth, their tease enough to have Lucy launching herself at him._

_The mistletoe hanging above them as his warmth pressed into her lips, her whole body slowly molding into him, his tongue moving against her lips, before she pulls back, the sound of the microwave going off._

_Her cheeks red, and her eyes still fluttered closed. She feels his soft lips on her forehead before moving to grab the mugs._

xxxxx

The candlelight casts a shadow across Lucy’s pensive face, her fingers pressured by her lips, teeth threatening to bear into the flesh. 

“Okay, Arnold and Flynn will be down any second, what do we think?” Wyatt asks, standing close to her, his hands on his hips, his voice already hinting at a tone that suggests he’s going to agree.

Lucy looks up at him, lowering her hand to her neck, tracing where her locket should be, having left it in the Lifeboat. 

“I’m in,” Rufus agrees, no hesitation, and Lucy’s head snaps over to him. She couldn’t believe how readily they were willing to head into dangerous territory to change history so much that the world they came back to would be unrecognizable.

“You’re the one that called us a bunch of Benedict Arnolds,” Wyatt jokes with a half grin, but Lucy’s face remains stoic. Rufus’ impassioned speech about taking off the head of the snake, killing one man in order to free him and his family, enough to get his vote.

“I vote yes too,” Wyatt says with a tilt of his head. Her hands wring around her neck, as if begging for something to hold onto, a link to her past, something to anchor her to what they were about to do.

Her eyes plead with Wyatt for more time, not the first time she’d shot him that look. Her teary eyes not quite wanting to accept that this might actually be the end.

“If we do this…history’s going to change,” she throws out. “What if—what if more people vanish like my sister?” She argues, at the real issue of why she was hesitating. Here Flynn was taking out important people in history, but every person in history was important to someone. You didn’t need to be included in a history book to mean something to someone. 

“What if more people are saved?” Wyatt argues, and she avoids his eyes, crossing her arms, wrapping them around herself. “Hell, what if you come home to Amy?”

The thought had crossed her mind, but was it a sacrifice she was willing to make? Kill one to save others? Her panicked eyes flitter over Wyatt, her throat bobbing with indecision.

“Luce,” he whispers, stepping closer to her in the candlelight. “This isn’t like saving the Alamo. This is killing one evil person to save hundreds of people possibly,” his argument coming out in a soft cadence against her. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think ‘history’ is a good enough reason to let people suffer.”

She shakes her head, not wanting to be the reason that suffering continues, but scared of what the outcome might be. She’d spent her whole life studying history, and then trying to protect it on these missions, and now…she was being asked to ignore that. Ignore everything she’d been taught.

Wyatt’s hand reaches out, unclenching her grip around herself, letting one of her arms fall to her side, the other softly cradled in his callused hands.

“Lucy, I know you,” he says, and god she wished he didn’t sometimes. “What you really believe in is helping people,” his thumb gently tracing the lifelines of her hand, the ones he knew so well, had followed along with her for so long until breaking off onto his own.

Stepping closer, his mouth hovers above her ear, his every breath a soft gust of a whisper against her. 

“We’re in this together, Luce. Whatever you decide. I’m with you,” he assures her. Not pressuring her one way or the other. He’d argued his side, but had ultimately left the decision up to her. 

Her choice.

xxxxx

_Lucy plays with the neck of his shirt, tracing her finger over the grooves of the thread holding it together. Staring transfixed, she pays no attention to the static that now plays on the television, her tape she’d recorded the episode on having long since ended._

_She’s not sure what Wyatt is doing, but he’s quiet, as if watching her with apt attention, fixated on her path up and down his neck._

_“Wyatt,” she murmurs._

_“Hmm,” he hums, his grip around her pulling her closer._

_Most nights they somehow ended up entangled on her couch, Amy on the other side, keeping them from doing much other than a few stolen kisses when she wasn’t looking._

_Tonight, they were alone. Amy having left to hang out with her friends on their break._

_“You said earlier…your mom…,” she hesitates, not wanting to bring the mood down, but curious about what he’d meant by the comment. “Used to put up lights…” she trails off, hoping that he’d move to fill the silence._

_Resting her head on his chest, she can feel him open his mouth, just slightly, before shutting it quickly. The turmoil inside of him, debating what and how much to say is obvious, the beat of his nervous heart ticking next to her ear._

_“She passed away, Lucy,” he quietly admits. “It was a long time ago,” he tries to dismiss the event, like he shouldn’t still be sad about it. His hands hesitate on her back, as if wanting to pull her close, but so used to pushing others away, that he was rendered between indecision._

_Lifting her head to meet his eyes, she sees they’ve quietly filled with unshed tears he was trying to hold in._

_Her hand moves to his cheek, her thumb wiping at the moisture gathering._

_“I’m so sorry, Wyatt,” wanting to take the pain away, and knowing there was nothing she could say that would ever do that for him. “You know…I’m here…if you ever want to…talk,” she offers, knowing that although it wasn’t necessarily his thing, she was more than willing to have it be her’s._

_“You being here is enough,” he answers against her, the words taking flight in her veins and settling somewhere deep into her being._

_“I’m with you.”_

xxxxx

The rickety wagon picks up again, the horses having now gotten their water. The information Flynn had just given her, faltering her feelings on the situation at hand. Her indecision paired with the uncertainty of what would await them as they got home, unsettling her stomach, rendering her quiet.

“You okay?” Wyatt asks beside her, and she nods, her curls bouncing as the wagon continues on.

She notices that his eyes never stop wandering to their surroundings, always on duty to protect them. But his body was now angled towards her, his words coming out softly as the sounds of the wagon drowned out much of everything.

“Wyatt,” she hesitates, not sure how to phrase her question.

“We’re going to be okay,” he says, thinking that their safety was what she was worried about. Instead it was the idea that what they did in there today would somehow taint her in the eyes of her sister if she were to get her back. 

He grabs her hand resting underneath her cape, and intwines their fingers together, aligning their lifelines once again. 

“I won’t let anything bad happen,” he promises, as they stop in front of the house, the horses halting.

She glances over at him, a silent plea for that to be true as they entire the house, a gentle squeeze, before they let each other go.

xxxxx

_“I should probably get going,” Wyatt says, rustling Lucy awake, having fallen asleep on him. Groggily she glances up at the clock seeing that it’s about the time he usually leaves. Neither of them wanting to chance the encounter of her mom coming home early._

_“Noo,” Lucy moans, grabbing onto his shirt. “Don’t leave me,” she playfully says, his head cocking to the side, learning that while he had no problem arguing with her when they didn’t agree, it was mostly in jest, and when she asked him for something, he had a hard time saying no._

_“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” he says while standing, always looking out for her. Staring up at him, still holding on his hand, she lightly yanks on it, all but begging for him to stay, five more minutes._

_Bending over, she lets go of his fingers, thinking she’s won. His hands land somewhere on the cushion behind her, his face inches away from her own._

_She takes the opportunity to pull the same move he’d made before, brushing her lips against the soft pair in front of her with her words._

_“Please, Wyatt,” she begs, her hands coming back to the neck of his collar, pulling him down on top of her._

xxxxxx

Hearing the words of a young boy spouted from a tyrannical opinion of his father, she can’t help but both be surprised, and horrified that of course Rittenhouse turned out to be just as bad as they knew them to be when they started with this philosophy.

She hears the tiny man who started it all come in, his small spectacles resting on the tip of his nose, but the air of arrogance saturated the room as he walked through. She kept her head down, continuing to sit in the chair, not wanting to call attention to herself. But he sees her anyway.

“May I get a better look at you?” He gestures towards her, and she can feel her heart jump into her throat. “My eyes aren’t want they used to be.” His request sounding innocent enough, but she knew underneath his tone was a sinister reason.

The young boy, John, comes over to escort her, and her eyes immediately rush to Wyatt’s at the word “examine” that he uses. She can see the worry in his eyes, and the promise he’d made coming into question so soon.

She refuses to meet Rittenhouse’s eye, the man who had caused so much pain to her and her family standing in front of her. She can feel Wyatt passing behind her, circling as if to make sure that not one wrong move was made.

Without asking, Rittenhouse reaches out, grabbing her chin, like she was a piece of property that he must make sure is in good condition before he makes his own.

“You have good strong teeth. Good skull proportion,” he declares, his grip tighter as she squirms.

“Stop,” she demands, wrenching her face out of his grip.

“Your hips are a bit narrow, but no one’s perfect,” he snidely says, adjusting his glasses. “Tell me, have you reproduced yet?”

She can practically feel Wyatt’s anger radiating off of him from behind her, and he eyes wander over towards him as she thinks about the question, before twitching back towards the creepy man in front of her.

“No,” she grits out.

“Good.”

And before she knows it, a man’s arm is around her, a knife put at her throat, the edge threatening to slit her open if she made one wrong move.

“What are you doing?” Wyatt grunts, Lucy’s panicked breathing only bringing her closer to the blade of the knife.

“These men are here to kill me,” he says, as if it were obvious. “The sweat on her brow, the look on his face, it’s not the first time I’ve seen that look. You mean me harm,” he says matter of factly, having already gotten the upper hand.

The man holding Lucy has a tight grip on her, and although she’s frightened, she can’t help but feel she deserved this. The plan was flawed, her conscience weighing heavy.

“But don’t worry, my dear. We’ll still find a good use for you,” Rittenhouse says as he saunters over to her, looking her up and down, and she swears, her fear grows ten fold, a creak of the floorboard letting her know that Wyatt, even with a gun to his head, hadn’t taken too kindly to the comment.

xxxxxx

_Up until this point, her and Wyatt had taken things slowly, not wanting to rush into anything, her nerves usually getting the better of her, overthinking things to the point of scaring herself right out of what she wanted._

_But this kiss was different than the ones before. They had been treading water, neither one of them wanting to jump right into the deep end just yet, but something about tonight had sparked a need in both of them._

_One of his hands tangles in her hair, as her’s wander over his chest, her kisses nipping at his lip, a guttural moan escaping from her lips, that at any other time would’ve sent her in a fit of laughter with a tantalizing blush, but this time only seems to spur her on, his free hand seemingly drawing circles on her bare skin in a way that drives her insane._

_His mouth traces her jaw, sending a trail of goosebumps down her spine, before landing on her neck, where she swears she can hear her name etched into her skin with his tongue._

_She moves her leg to get more comfortable, and her knee grazes against him in a way that makes his breath hitch in a tense sigh, that only had her yearning to have him make that sound again._

_Arching her back, it sends his hand higher, dusting across the bottom of her bra that had her shivering._

_“Is this okay?” He murmurs into her neck, and she swears she could feel that question on every nerve ending of her body._

_She nods into him._

_“Yes.”_

xxxxx

The gunshots ring out throughout the room, Arnold’s body crumples on the floor, several bullets littering his body. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It’s the thought that keeps going through her head as the tears spring to her eyes, pulling on the arm that has her in a death grip, the tip of the knife digging into her neck at her movement, before yanking her back to her spot.

Rittenhouse’s mouth moves with words, but she can’t hear any of it, her ears ringing with fear, vibrating through every nerve in her body. It’s only when he motions with his hand, bringing Wyatt and Flynn to their knees, that she snaps back, pulling at her human restraint.

“No! No!” She screams, as Wyatt falls to the ground. She tries to catch his eyes, his promise weighing heavy on her. He promised he wouldn’t leave again. He promised he wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

“You two are sentenced to death,” he declares, quickly turning his back to approach her again. “And you are to be brought to my bedchamber.”

Her teeth grit together, and she flings her limbs as she’s dragged out of the door.

“Wyatt!” She yells, trying to catch his attention, not wanting this to be the last time she sees him. Not again.

A gunshot signaling her fate.

xxxxxx

_As Lucy laid on that couch, Wyatt’s mouth outlining the way he felt for her with every small movement, she couldn’t help but feel something akin to safe. It was the temptation of an emotion that couldn’t quite utter, didn’t want to think could happen, but bubbled on the surface of her skin in the wake of his touch._

_And the way he touched her wasn’t searching for a version of her he wanted, it wasn’t demanding like he was owed her, it was soft, revered, almost like he wasn’t sure he actually deserved what was happening. She was a puzzle he was slowly learning to put together by examining each piece, never anticipating the next move, allowing her to show him._

_Lucy eyes hazy, her lashes shielding most of her view, as she gazes down at Wyatt, before moving his lips back to her own, the taste of a promise on his lips._

_She doesn’t even hear the door being opened and shut, the light footsteps of the heels on the hardwood floor carrying towards the living room._

_Lucy doesn’t hear a thing but the sound of her name on Wyatt’s lips until a sharp gasp is let out and Carol Preston stands behind them glaring down at the two of them with the most terrifying gaze Lucy has ever seen._

xxxxxx

When she pictured how the night was going to go, standing in front of a child, begging Flynn not to kill him, was not part of the plan.

The plan had been to kill one man. One man. Not a child. She’d almost lost Wyatt, nearly flying into his arms when she’d made it back into the room to find her team standing around a bunch of Rittenhouse bodies. One hug, that was it, before they’d separated.

Flynn screams at her to move, his red, angry face an image she hadn’t wanted to see. And although he heart threatens to beat out of her chest, she refuses to move.

Her scream isn’t nearly as loud as his, but she does it. She argues with the man who has long since crossed the line of decency, hoping for an outcome that she has yet to witness with him.

“You have a choice right now! We all have choices. We can—“ she hesitates, the idea of killing a child because of who his father is and what he might be not lost on her. “We can decide to be something different!”

Flynn turns on her, slowly making his way towards the child, a grimacing look on his face.

“Please, no. Please, please, don’t do this,” she pleads, tears streaming down her face, but her legs refusing to move, not wanting to expose this boy to a fate that never should’ve befallen him.

Flynn grabs onto her wrist, his hand taking up her entire forearm, affirming how much bigger he was than her. His grip is menacing, his teeth gritted together in an angry sneer. She’s gone from the gentle, relieved touch of Wyatt to the rage grip Flynn had on her.

“Get out of my way,” he tosses her, not letting go of his grip, instead flinging her like a doll, only to reveal that the boy had escaped.

This only angers him further, Lucy’s free hand wrapped around his, trying to loosen the death grip he had on her on arm.

Yanking her around as he looks, he seems to make a decision.

“Where are you taking me?” She asks, her sobbing momentarily stopped, knowing that at least the boy was safe. Unlike herself.

“I thought you knew what was at stake. Come on!” He barks at her.

“Wyatt! Wyatt!” She screams, as she’s dragged through the brush towards the Mothership.

“Lucy!” She hears back, Wyatt’s panicked voice echoing to her.

“No! No!” She pleads, trying to dig her heels into the ground, but it’s no use, he drags her with him.

“Lucy!” She hears again, and she closes her eyes, praying that Wyatt finds her in time.

“Let go of me!” She demands, but Flynn seems to have taken a deaf ear towards her. The fear mounts in her as she’s shoved into a chair in the Mothership, the door closing behind her, only the shouts of Wyatt calling her name cane be heard, as a terrifying sneer of Flynn seen.


End file.
